


Oath Over Creed

by ScarlettSiren



Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ancient China, Assassin Mark, Barebacking, Blood and Violence, Fantasy World with No Magic, M/M, Politics, Prince Jackson - Freeform, Princes & Princesses, Song Dynasty, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-26 13:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: For years, Mark has watched over Prince Jiaer, fondly known as simply “Jackson” to those closest to him. As his personal guard, Mark was charged with the prince’s safety, and trusted above all else. Raised by an elite order of assassins, there could be no one else more fit for the job. But when the loyalty of that very same clan of highly-trained assassins changes, Mark is forced to make a choice: follow the orders of those who taught him everything he knows, or follow his heart and protect the man whose side he has stood by all these years, of whom he has grown so fond.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a fantasy world which is equivalent to approximately our late Twelfth, early Thirteenth century (during the Song dynasty for China). You will see influences here from history, of course, as well as Assassin’s Creed, Dungeons & Dragons, Game of Thrones, etc. I actually stole a lot of the content from this old original RP I did ages ago I later reformatted into a D&D campaign that my players never finished. Basically, it’s a mess, so bear with me.
> 
> I’ve aged the boys down for this, for once… Jackson is on the cusp of 21, Mark a bit older and nearly 22. Yugyeom is the youngest at 18. The other boys don't come into this until a few chapters in, so bear with me! It's only Markson for like the first two chapters.
> 
> WARNINGS: E is for smut but there's a decent amount of semi-graphic violence. There is a fair amount of blood and death, but I did not include a Graphic Violence warning because it is not, in my opinion, gratuitous or particularly gruesome at most points. There is a decent amount of it throughout, though, so please keep that in mind if you're squeamish.

The palace gardens were bathed in afternoon light, the lingering summer sun tempered with autumn’s encroaching chill, making the weather perfectly pleasant. The prince was on the lawn, a new weapon gleaming in his hand. The man before him, a swordsman of high skill hailing from the western lands, had called it an épée, if Mark recalled correctly. It was thin, almost dainty… incredibly impractical in a standard sword fight if you asked him, but the grace and speed with which the wielders moved was something to behold. The prince had become quite skilled in the time he’d been practicing, but it seemed little more than a sport or recreation. Mark couldn’t imagine it coming in much handy during a real battle.

“Ever improving as always, Prince Jiaer.” The foreigner said in the common tongue, the accent of his native language curling around each word like filigree.

“Maître! How many times have I insisted, Jackson is fine!” The prince replied, revealing a genial grin as he removed his helm, much lighter than those his people were used to wearing into war. This was just practice, after all.

“Several, your Highness… perhaps one day my Western sensibilities will give in.” The older man countered, giving a smirk that almost looked like a sneer on his elongated features.

Mark rolled his eyes… Western niceties were always so heavy-handed. When Jackson had insisted that his guard call him by his preferred nickname upon their first meeting, Mark had simply grinned and told him, _”That’s never going to happen, Highness.”_

Mark, of course, knew the importance of names… his was a nickname, as well, though it held much more importance to him that he be called by it rather than his birth name. That was the way of the Order of assassins which had trained him, and only its leader and Mark himself knew the name which he was given at birth. As a sign of understanding and respect, Mark never called Jackson by ‘Jiaer’, only “Highness”, which felt like an amicable middle ground between his duties and Jackson’s preferences.

The prince shared a few more words with the man before he went on his way, one of the palace attendants leading him off the grounds and ensuring he received his ample compensation, as owed. The king was ever looking to expand the knowledge of his empire, most notably through teaching his son all there was to know about the lands beyond their borders. He brought in teachers from all around the world, and more often than not Jackson had been bored with it. But this… this, he had taken to.

“Think I’ve improved enough to have a bout with you yet, Mark?” Jackson teased, twirling the elegant sword in his hand with a suggestive glance toward his guard.

“My blade would see yours rend in half, and you upon the ground, Highness.” Mark told him, a bit of an amused quirk to his brow and a sly grin on his lips. “The style simply isn’t suited to facing against mine, no matter what skill you may come to possess.”

“Sounds like someone is deflecting. Save your parry for the battlefield!” Jackson retorted, moving into stance quickly and lunging toward the other.

Mark’s movements were like lightning; his right arm moved down to unsheath the fighting knife strapped across his back, sliding it from the scabbard fast enough that the blade was suddenly blocking Jackson’s own, sliding between the elaborate twisted metal of the sword’s guard and wrenching it away. He spun, taking the force of Jackson’s lunge and turning it back around until the other was laid out on the grass. Mark pinned him there, his épée immobilized when the fighting knife sunk into the dirt to hold it there. The guard’s other hand had come up to the prince’s throat, the hidden blade kept tucked against his forearm under the sleeve of his tunic sliding out to glimmer against his vulnerable neck.

Mark raised an eyebrow, smirking in his obvious victory. It hadn’t even been a contest. The prince would have been dead ten times over had he willed it. But as it stood, that was anathema to his job, to his very purpose… and this, this was all in good fun.

Jackson’s eyes spoke more than he, and that was saying a lot, given how loose his tongue was known to be. He always seemed to regard people with a certain intensity which, to Mark, either spoke of his desire to devour someone or burn them alive. It was hard to discern exactly his intent, but his gaze was not one which could be met lightly, though he met it all the same, his victorious grin never wavering.

“I am not your training dummy, Highness.” Mark reminded him, finally pulling his eyes away from the other man’s as he stood back up, offering a hand once he was on his own two feet. “I am your guard. You would do well to remember it.”

“Mm, perhaps the lesson will stick this time.” Jackson replied good-naturedly, making a show of rubbing his neck with a dramatic grimace.

“It will stick as well as the Maître’s ‘western sensibilities’ will cave, I imagine.” Mark retorted.

Jackson, to his credit, tried to stifle the laugh that caused, but within seconds he had burst out in barely-contained giggles, punching the other lightly in the arm. “You’re terrible.”

Mark allowed his usually stoic demeanor to falter as he snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Some would argue I’ve learned from the best, Highness.”

Jackson just smiled at him, and for a moment, Mark could see the young man behind that noble title, could see him for who he was.

He would not admit it to a single soul, but he cherished those moments when the prince felt comfortable to be himself. He wished for him a life of many more such moments, though whether that was a completely selfless wish was hard to say.

***

The rest of day went very much the same as they often did; Jackson visited the healers after his lesson, allowing them to massage soothing ointments into his limbs while he breathed in calming herbs through steamy air. He chatted sweetly with them as he always did, the younger assistant healers always entranced and giggling while the elder, a rather grouchy old woman, snapped at them to focus. Mark waited outside the room, allowing himself an amused huff of a laugh and a secret smile when he heard Jackson quip something about being too charming to resist. It would have sounded idiotic were it not entirely true. He’d never met a person under the age of fifty who was immune to Jackson’s charisma, save himself… and there were some days when Jackson even got to him, if he was entirely honest.

The prince emerged some time later, announcing how refreshed he felt, just as he always did (and he did, always, every time, without fail… Mark could have set a calendar by it). The assassin had to turn away so the other didn’t see him roll his eyes.

They ate lunch together, at Jackson’s behest, in the palace gardens to enjoy the sunshine. He enjoyed tossing his scraps into the ponds there and watching the koi gobble them up. They spoke about menial things, in a language of their own making. It was an amalgam of their native language, the common tongue, and a bit of the one spoken by the people of the northern lands, which Mark and Jackson had both studied in their youth. It made conversation uniquely their own, and virtually gibberish to passers-by.

Jackson spent much of the afternoon studying, no longer in need of a tutor. He was someone who thirsted for knowledge, and did not need to be encouraged to seek it. He often spent hours in the palace library, reading anything new that his father had acquired from across the lands. Poetry and prose were things he enjoyed, but he did not shy away from the sciences and mathematics, either. He took to them all quickly, a veritable prodigy, as the king often said.

The windows had grown dark when Jackson finally realized the time, sitting up from his chair and tossing the scroll he was reading onto the desk before him. “Damn it… it’ll be nearly dinner time. I should get going.”

“Yes, you should.” Mark chided. He’d reminded him three times already, only to be grunted at, Jackson too buried in his reading to really acknowledge him.

Mark brought him to the dining hall, nodding to the two guards in the hall flanking the door. Jackson made a face when he saw that his father and stepmother were already seated. Hopefully he would avoid a lecture on manners, again.

“Highness.” Mark said with bow before taking his leave. He headed down to the kitchens to get a meal for himself, just as he did every day. The cooking staff was always kind to him, but the palace guards passed him with wary glances. Ever since he’d overheard them claiming to pity him for having to ‘play lapdog to the prince day in and day out’, and he promptly revealed himself as having heard them, they had been terrified of him. He’d never given them reason to be, but the Order’s reputation was known far and wide, and those men knew just what he was capable of, lapdog to the prince or not.

Mark ate quickly, always one to use limited time efficiently. He took a plum with him, eating it as he walked through the palace and to his own quarters, wanting to check on things before meeting back up with his charge. He passed by the dining hall along the outer walkways where the lattice windows were opened wide into the gardens. Jackson caught his gaze, his father distracted by the queen, who was blathering on in yet another horrendous attempt at their language, though the king seemed amused. Jackson made a face, motioning as though he were being hanged. Mark snorted a laugh, shaking his head and continuing on his way with a sympathetic smile and shrug.

“Oh, that reminds me… I will be going on a hunt tomorrow.” The king piped up, cutting off his wife mid-butchered-sentence, much to Jackson’s relief. “It slipped my mind to tell you, son. The councilmen from the northern kingdoms will be visiting.”

“I knew as such, about the councilmen. You already arranged for their imperial scholars to tutor me the same day.” Jackson reminded him gently, a genial smile on his face. “I was very much looking forward to it.”

“Oh, excellent. I will entertain the officials, then, and the queen the official’s wives, while you attend to your studies.” The king replied.

Jackson and the queen both smiled agreeably, though neither was genuine, and he did not miss the way her eyes rolled to one side in something like irritation. 

After dinner, Mark was waiting for Jackson just outside the door, as he always was. They generally walked the gardens after dinner, giving Jackson a chance to relax. Ever since his father had remarried, it had become routine for him. Ever since Mark became his personal guard, in fact, as the two had come so close together that they were nearly hand-in-hand. It surprised Jackson that he had not grown any resentment toward his guard for that, but perhaps he instead saw the man as a bright spot in such a horrendous transition. He was as a friend to him, now.

The gardens were beautiful no matter the time, but what Jackson liked the best were the garden towers. Looming over the grounds, they were garish structures that seemed entirely unnecessary save their appearance and the status they represented. Jackson pushed his way through the heavy wooden doors, finding the resting area abandoned, as expected. He threw himself down onto one of the chairs with a great sigh, Mark taking a seat next to him.

It was quiet, peaceful… no one ever came there at night, which gave them the place to themselves most evenings. A stray servant may come across them every so often, usually looking for a place to steal away with their lovers, but they quickly moved on when they heard the prince and his guard making idle conversation from within. It would certainly be better to be caught by them than by the king, but better to not be discovered at all.

“You seem troubled.” Mark said, observant as ever. “More so than usual.”

“It’s nothing different, really. Just more of the same. My stepmother, she… well. I shouldn’t…”

Jackson’s thought petered off into a sigh of irritation. It was clear something was bothering him.

“Highness… understand that what you say to me does not leave this room.” Mark reminded, giving him a meaningful look.

That was apparently what Jackson needed to hear.

It was as though a floodgate opened. Jackson unleashed a tirade: every doubt he had about the woman’s sincerity, comments on her terrible manners, her horrendous non-attempt at learning their language (“ _Calling it an ‘attempt’ would imply there was some form of effort on her part, but I can assure you, there is_ not!”), everything he’d bitten back and hidden behind curt smiles and cordial conversation, finally released.

“And the number of times she’s complained about the kitchen staff about the food is _unreasonable_. They’ve stopped making anything with even the most remote amount of spice. Do they even use anything more than salt in her kingdom?”

Mark snorted, because he’d eaten his share of Western food and he wasn’t sure that was so far from the truth. Though he had grown up among the desert people, he had traveled the world and experienced so much of what it had to offer. The West, incidentally, did not have much to offer by way of spices, that much was for certain.

Jackson had gone quiet, catching his breath, and the guard realized he was finished.

“Do you feel better?” Mark asked, cocking his head with a knowing smile.

“Yes. I do. Thank you, I… needed to say all that, to someone.” Jackson admitted, sounding relieved. “Though I probably sound spoiled and petulant to the likes of you, hm?”

“No, I completely agree.” Mark replied plainly. “But of course, you heard no such thing from me, nor I from you.”

“Of course.” Jackson said in a too-serious tone, brow furrowed as he gave a stern nod. Seconds later, however, he burst into a fit of giggles, so amused that he nearly fell out of his chair.

Mark allowed himself a soft laugh, shaking his head and reaching out a hand to brace the other when he began to topple out of his seat. Jackson righted himself, taking a moment to calm down before he spoke again.

“I know it likely seems such a small thing, but… it’s nice that I can speak to someone in confidence about my… concerns.” Jackson told him in such a genuine, sweet manner that it was endearing.

“Highness, you entrust me with your safety. Surely if you trust your life in my hands, you can trust that you can say anything to me and it will not be repeated.” Mark replied in something like admonishment.

“I trust you with the concept of my safety. It hardly comes up.” Jackson retorted, waving off the thought too-casually.

Mark scoffed, blinking at him in offense. “Concept? So I suppose the entire plot by that rogue southern kingdom to assassinate you last winter… and all four mercenaries they sent to do it, the ones I dispatched before they so much as laid a finger on you, they were merely a concept, Highness?”

Jackson sputtered. “No, I… that isn’t what I meant; you’re obviously more than capable of protecting me. I was simply stating that my _usual_ day doesn’t consist of being attacked by mercenaries. Ordinarily.”

“Diplomacy is surely one of your strong suits.” Mark quipped, but he was grinning.

Jackson shoved him, so hard he was the one nearly toppling out of his chair, then, though he only laughed, not a single indication of irritation upon his face.

***

Another pleasant morning sun graced the horizon. It was a perfect day for a ride, or a hunt, and Jackson almost regretted that he would be stuck inside poring over scrolls with the scholars. There was a flurry of fanfare as the dignitaries arrived, and as they and the king set off. Jackson watched them go from the edge of the gardens, waving them off with well-wishes.

He and Mark met up with the northern scholar after the prince took his morning meal, the two heading for one of the palace’s larger studies. The man seemed to condescend to the younger at first, but upon listening to him and discovering his humility and intelligence, his demeanor changed to a much more amicable one.

Mark settled in against the wall just outside the study, allowing the men their solitude but remaining within earshot of his charge. This particular study’s outer door led into the fields behind the palace… not a particularly exciting view, but it did mean he was not stuck inside listening to the idle prattle of the servants. Here, he was within sight of the stable-hands as well as the guards’ training grounds. He could fondly remember in his earliest days at the palace, as a plucky young man of just eighteen, confronting any guard who so much as suggested he was too young for his station. He had laid out easily a dozen guards in those weeks to prove himself. Jackson had only laughed, amused and delighted, claiming that he had the strongest guard in all the land. It had felt a lifetime ago, despite that merely four winters had passed since then.

He was glad that he and the prince had taken to each other, though. The Elder had warned him of the disrespect of nobles, how his young age would be cause for scrutiny upon his ability, but that he must simply rise above it. His only duty was to protect the prince, and ensure the safety of the Wang family. Mark had arrived at the same time as the king’s marriage to his Western queen, a foreign princess in pursuit of allyship for her home country. The king seemed almost amused by her, as if she were a novelty, but Jackson had not taken to her well at all. He threw himself into his studies, into every new venture his father proposed. He’d been the perfect son… and the perfect charge, if Mark were honest. The prince never once tried to slip him, or became irritated with his constant presence. Perhaps the guard Mark had replaced had been insufferable. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

Mark was pulled from his thoughts as he took notice of a man on horseback loping out of the forest and toward the palace. He slowed as he passed by the area where Mark stood, and he could see now it was one of the palace guards who had been along on the hunt.

“Has something happened?” Mark asked. “Why are you not with your charge?”

“The king, he’s been attacked!”

Mark was instantly on guard, hand moving for his sword as he pushed away from the wall. “How many men? Is he badly injured? Which way did they come from?”

“N-no, there were no men, sir. It was a beast, during the hunt. A tiger.”

That caused Mark to take pause. “And his injuries?”

“I’ve been ordered to send for the healers, but...” The man’s face was regretful, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “I don’t believe he’ll last the journey home.”

Mark felt those words like a blade through his gut. He let go of his sword. “Fetch the healers regardless. I will… inform the prince.”

The man nodded, banking his horse toward the healers’ quarters as Mark took a steadying breath.

This was not a task he would wish on anyone, even the worst of enemies.

He settled back against the wall, listening through the door, now. Jackson was animatedly discussing a philosophical viewpoint with the northern scholar, who seemed impressed in his ability to follow along. He sounded elated, and Mark felt his chest tighten, knowing he would have to rip that joy away from him. He chose to wait a little longer, to buy his prince just a few more moments of normalcy. He knew he would not find any semblance of it in some time once the boy knew his father was dead.

Time seemed meaningless in those minutes when he stood just outside the study, considering what he would say. But not long after the guard had come riding by, the hunting party returned. The healers met them with several palace guards, who carried with them a straw pallet to assist in carrying the king to the healer’s work room. There was so much chaos… the foreign dignitaries clearly shaken and standing back away from the commotion as the guards lifted the king from the horse and onto the stretcher. Off a little ways, Mark could see the servants pulling the king’s horse toward the stables, its white flank stained vermillion with blood.

The healers passed him, and there he was. Mark could see red… too much red upon those distinctive blue silks, the king’s still face stained entirely crimson and nearly unrecognizable. The front of his hanfu was split open, along with his abdomen, his organs having spilled out into the fold of his robes. Mark hissed, and looked away.

The healers took him to their work area, but it was for nothing more than preparation. He was gone.

The crowd dispersed, several magistrates appearing to speak with the dignitaries, likely to get their statements. Mark took a breath. He scrubbed his face with his hand, pushing back his hair and the hood of his tunic with it. He could not hide from the prince any longer. He had to be told.

The guard’s knuckle fell against the wooden door thrice with urgency. He opened it without awaiting a response, bowing low as soon as he entered.

“My deepest apologies for disturbing your studies, Highness. I’m afraid I must interrupt you with terrible news. Would you come with me, sire?”

Jackson blinked at him in confusion, standing up from his desk. He apologized to the scholar and excused himself, following Mark out the door.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Jackson asked. Mark could see the worry soaking into his expression, and it broke him to know that he would have to confirm his worst fears.

Mark cradled Jackson’s shoulder with his palm, looking him in the eyes. So often he remained hidden behind his hood, a signature mark of his legacy as an assassin of the Order, but now, he allowed the other to see him to see just how much it agonized him to do this.

“It’s your father, Highness. He was attacked on his hunt by a wild beast. He… did not make it.”

Mark could pinpoint the precise moment at which Jackson’s heart shattered, his face falling. He gripped at the sleeve of Mark’s tunic, at the front of his leather armor, fingers digging for purchase, as though he could be held there while he felt for all the world he was sinking into the very ground, right to the center of the earth.

“He… what? No…” Jackson managed to say, his voice breaking on the words as he searched Mark’s face for any hint that it were a lie, or some cruel joke, though he knew the other could never do such a thing.

Mark swallowed, Jackson’s grief permeating his skin as though it were his own. “I’m so sorry, Highness. There was nothing that could be done for him. The healers are preparing him for—”

“T-take me to him. I need to… I need to see him.” Jackson begged, fingers twisting into the linen of Mark’s tunic in desperation.

“Highness, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t see him now. Not like that.” Mark told him in a raw voice, shaking his head. “Not like that.”

Jackson broke.

An anguished sob swallowed anything Jackson may have wanted to say, his knees giving out. Mark took him to the ground gently, letting the prince weep and howl and cry until his voice went hoarse, until the threads of Mark’s tunic began to tear under his grip, until his grief had settled into placid mourning. Mark held him, and wished for all the world he had been there when the tiger’s maw had threatened their king, wished he could have spared his prince from this pain.

But pain, and grief, were not things Mark could guard against, and he could only offer his shoulder while Jackson felt his whole world crumbling down around him.

 

The ceremony was held that very day, at dusk. The funeral pyre blazed with a backdrop of the setting sun, the spring breeze carrying the smoke toward the west. The queen stood silently in black raiment, eyes fixed upon the horizon, not a single emotion visible within them.

Jackson struggled to maintain his composure, eyes sparkling as he watched smoke and fire climb to the sky, taking with it what felt like his entire soul. The monk who had presided over the ceremony had finished his prayers, and stepped aside for others to speak. The queen held up a hand dismissively, declining with a shake of her head.

Jackson’s eyes were still on the smoke curling in the wind, flying west. He was reminded of a poem, one he learned from one of the many scholars his father had brought in to tutor him. He stepped toward the pyre, and all eyes turned to him, though he was not addressing them. He addressed the smoke, the ash, the smoldering scraps of his father’s funeral shroud as the wind took them, twirled them up into the sky and away from here.

“Go not to the West.” Jackson said, his voice cracking, as though he were begging with all his being. “Go not to the West, where level wastes of sand stretch on and on. Go not to the West, where many perils wait.”

Jackson’s voice broke again, but Mark’s hand at his back steadied him, and he took another breath before continuing. “Come back, come back to idleness and peace, and in quietude enjoy the lands of our ancestors. May you follow your desire ‘til our sorrow is forgotten. Come back to the East, to joys beyond all telling."

The onlookers offered solemn nods, several of the women sniffling into silken handkerchiefs.

In time, the queen took her leave, not saying a word. The other mourners left as well, one by one, but there Jackson stayed as the sun sank beneath the horizon, the funeral pyre the only remaining light against the sky.

There he stood, with Mark by his side, until it had burned to nothing but ash and cinders.

***

When the fire had died, it felt to Jackson as though all the warmth and light had been stolen from the world, his father going with it. Mark saw him to his room, but there was a sort of hollowness in Jackson’s eyes that worried him. He had never seen the man so broken. It pained him to see him this way… but there was nothing he could do save what he’d always done; remain at the prince’s side, one of the only constants in his tumultuous life.

Mark wasn’t tired. He paced the palace, deep in thought. Everywhere around him, life went on. Servants had removed the tapestries emblazoned with the Wang family crest, having replaced them with ones that were unfamiliar and garish. The bore symbols of the West, family names unfamiliar to Mark. He even noticed new guards milling around, ones with pale skin and light hair, wearing foreign armor. Had the queen brought in her own men? Was Jackson not meant to take the throne in just a few moons? Why did it feel as though that were not the case?

Even the kitchens were abuzz, the staff appearing melancholy as they pitched perfectly good produce by the barrel. When Mark asked them what they were doing, he was only told it had been the queen’s orders, and that she did not favor those particular foods. Mark encouraged them to take them to the servant’s quarters so that they would not, at least, be wasted. He also stole a pomegranate for himself, wondering silently how the woman could not like them when they were as sour as her personality. He smiled around the tart red seeds, knowing Jackson would have been amused to hear him say that. Perhaps he would have to tell him.

His thoughts were still on his grieving prince when he passed by his room, nodding to night guards who were posted in the hall for his protection. But Mark’s keen sense of hearing picked up something from beyond the door: a loud flutter of fabric, the tap of wood shutters on stone. He cursed under his breath, moving around the corner before taking off through the palace, not wishing to alert the guards.

When Mark came around the other side of the castle, he could see Jackson’s windows were wide open, his curtains flowing freely through the open wall. He shook his head, rolling his eyes. Pitching the remainder of his pomegranate, he wiped his hands on his tunic and began to climb.

The roof was laid with rounded tiles, but at its largest points, was quite flat, making it easy to traverse. He’d done so dozens of times since coming here, just as the prince had, dozens of times, escaped his room to the solace of the roof. No matter how many times Mark chided him, he would not listen. And sure enough, as the guard reached the crest of the building, he could see his prince sitting there upon the ridges of the tiles, staring up at the sky. 

He stayed there for some time, not wishing to disturb him, but also needing to ensure his safety. He was caught between the fringes of duty and friendship, and he knew the former would always win out.

“Would you quit skulking around? I know you’re there, just join me if you insist on being my keeper.” Jackson eventually grumbled, his voice cutting through the quiet of the night.

Mark pressed his lips together, moving from behind the parapet to sit next to the other. It was several beats before he spoke. “Apologies, Highness… I know that you come out here to be alone, but—”

“It’s not to be alone.” Jackson interrupted, heaving a great sigh and lying back against the roof. “I just… needed to get out of the palace. Now more than ever. It’s just… there’s so much… going on.”

“Loss is never easy, and in a position such as yours, it can only be more difficult—”

“Spare me the prepared pep-talk.” Jackson whined, and it sounded like he was begging. A cursory glance at his face, expression desperate and pained, told him that he was doing exactly that. “Please. I’m getting it from everyone else. I don’t need Mark, the vigilant guard sent from the Order to protect me as proclaimed by my birthright. I need Mark, the guy that watches my back, listens to me complain about my stepmother, lies to my father to cover my ass...”

“I get it.” Mark waved him off, shaking his head. “All right. I understand why you wanted to get out of there. The noise and the ritual and the change. But there isn’t... chaos, strangely. In fact, the palace’s lack of disarray is actually quite disturbing.”

Jackson sat up, snapping his fingers at the other, eyes wide and thoughtful. “Yes! I thought, surely there must be some contingencies in place were the worst to ever happen, but, ever since he died, it’s been no different than a game of weiqi. Every piece is moved strategically into place, and before I could even find my bearings, I was surrounded by it.”

“You feel surrounded by… an enemy?” Mark asked softly, concern edging into his tone.

Jackson made a pained little sound. “No, it’s just… yes? Maybe I don’t know how else to see this… perfectly orchestrated transition. I can’t think how else to describe it. It was the same feeling I got when I rode through father’s armies during the last inspection… every soldier in his place, rows and rows of armed men far as the eye could see. And with a single gesture from their king, they moved as one, exactly as ordered. Only now… my father isn’t the one giving the signal.”

“Your stepmother.” Mark finished. Jackson nodded. “She’ll only be the queen regent for a few moons, until you come of age.”

“I don’t doubt her ability, or her motives. At least, I don’t want to. But I can’t help but feel this was all… planned ahead. Everything has fallen into place far too rapidly… the goddamn _tapestries_ , Mark!” Jackson sighed and threw himself back down against the roof, covering his eyes with his arm. “It feels… impersonal. I don’t feel grief around me. I feel change. Transition. Like spring has suddenly gone and the chill of winter has taken the palace before I could even prepare for it, faster than I expected. Where is autumn? Where is my moment, _our_ moment, to grieve? Was my father not beloved by his people? When I look around this place, I don’t see regret or sadness. I only see duty.”

Mark nodded sympathetically, resting a hand on the other’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. “You will have time to grieve. And you will have time to prepare yourself before you must take your father’s place. Many sons are not given this opportunity… they are simply thrust into their thrones, questioning their legacy. You have time. Take it, even if it seems that those around you are not.”

That seemed to comfort the prince, or at least quell him. He moved his arm back down, regarding the assassin. “Thank you. This is the Mark I needed.”

The guard snorted, shaking his head. “I’ll endeavor to continue meeting your expectations. In the meantime, you should return to bed, Highness.”

“Why, so the generic palace guards can watch over my room and you can get your beauty sleep?”

“You know me so well.” Mark replied with a smooth smile, easily covering his lie.

He had no intention of sleeping, not anytime soon. He had things he wanted to look into before the light of day brought prying eyes upon him.

***

Mark was not entirely certain just what he was looking for, but he knew that he would not rest until he’d found it. Judging by the injuries the king had sustained, he had no doubt that a tiger had, in fact, been the culprit. There had also been a dozen witnesses, several of which were foreign dignitaries. It was doubtful that each and every one of them had been bought and encouraged to lie. No, his doubts were not with the manner of the king’s death, but rather, the cause.

Just after midnight, Mark let himself into the royal stables. It was a good a place as any to start, and there would be no one around due to the late hour. He took up a lantern as he entered, the space black as pitch with the lack of daylight. All of the finest palace horses sat in their pens, dozing on their feet, unperturbed. They could not possibly sense the turmoil in the castle, unknowing of the plights of the world of men.

The king’s horse did not appear to have been seriously injured. The blood was cleaned from its coat, now. There was only a small cluster of claw marks along its back, just where the saddle would have ended. By the way they shined, they’d been treated with a poultice before he was returned to the stables. The horse had woken, and twitched a little as Mark passed. The guard lifted a hand, gently patting his nose to quell him. The beast calmed, nuzzling against the man’s palm with familiarity.

“What did you see?” Mark murmured into the quiet dark of the stables, knowing there would be no answer.

He moved on toward the back of the stables, where all the bridles and saddles were stored. They were kept in perfect order, each one of them cleaned after every outing before being placed back into its designated area. His eyes tracked over rows and rows of leather and metal, but the king’s saddle was not among them.

Surely it had been destroyed in the attack. Perhaps it had been discarded.

Mark made his way out of the stables to circle around the building, toward where the waste was generally disposed of. The cart which it was usually loaded onto was empty, fresh tracks in the dirt where the wheels had rolled through. Nothing there, then. He followed the tracks, losing them in the grass, but knowing where they would eventually lead. In time, he came across the grounds where the palace refuse was disposed of, later to be burned. The top-most layer was fresh, consisting of the day’s waste. He lifted his lantern, glancing around the pile.

He heard a soft squeak of a noise, like quiet chittering. He followed the sound around the other side of the hoard of garbage, and there it was. The king’s saddle, still bearing the claw marks of a tiger along the leather toward the back. There was a mongoose sticking halfway out of one of the saddlebags, tittering and wiggling its body as it searched its contents. Mark made a harsh hissing noise, kicking the creature away. It gave a small growl of protest before scurrying off toward the nearby forest.

Mark crouched, looking over the saddle. There were blowflies buzzing around the bag the mongoose had been so drawn to. He gently peeled back the flap of leather covering it and peered inside, lifting his lantern. Despite the putrid odor, he did not react beyond a slight twitch in his throat where it protested the smell. Mark slid his hand through the muck inside, and his fingertips came away caked in browning blood.

Blood, which would have surely attracted the attention of a predator. A predator such as a wild tiger.

There was no conceivable reason for the king to have placed bloody meat in his own saddle… he was not a risk-taking man, as was well known. But this was not evidence of who had wished harm upon their ruler… merely that someone had. It was not enough for him to bring to Jackson… after all, it would only pose more questions than it answered. Instead, he chose to tuck the saddle away in a forgotten corner of the armory, knowing no one would think to look for it there.

He returned to his quarters, forcing himself into fitful rest, for he knew that there was nothing he could do but wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh so yeah this is the most I’ve written in months, bear with me while I get over this slump, please. This got so much wordier than I intended, actually thinking this might be a full 10 chapters because my chapters are ending up so much longer than I mean them to be.
> 
> As an aside, Jackson’s funeral poem is adapted from a real 3rd Century BC Chinese poem from the Great Summons, author unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this was already written when I posted the first chapter. I just wrote nearly 15k straight and broke it up where it worked.

The night had not treated Jackson kindly. Mark could see the way exhaustion and grief settled under the prince’s eyes, leaving dark circles there. He was worried for his charge, but could not do much more than offer simple reassurances whenever he was able.

The palace was still running efficiently, with servants milling around to get things done. Their eyes would seek the ground whenever Jackson passed. It was as though they could not bear to look upon him, that seeing his grief would remind them that their king was gone, and all that was left of him was his legacy, this boy who seemed so broken and hollow in the wake of his passing.

Jackson did not study. He did not train. He spent the day lounging in the garden tower, tucked away where the world couldn’t find him. He refused meals. He hardly spoke. It was as though he wanted to soak in his grief, to wade out into the inky blackness of it and allow it to consume him. It troubled Mark to see him like this, to know that there was nothing he could do except watch.

It was after supper when the queen summoned them, one of her squires finally checking the garden tower, the only conceivable place they could have been were he had not yet looked for them. He seemed winded, having run about the entire palace searching for them, apparently. Jackson gave an affirming grunt to the message and stood with a groan.

“Highness?” Mark said, asking more than he could possibly say.

“It’s fine. I can handle a small meeting with my stepmother.” The prince replied, heading for the door.

Jackson’s stepmother sat upon his father’s throne, now queen regent, and everything about it felt _wrong_. She was dressed head-to-toe in black silk, elegant gold stitching along her hems. She wore grief with elegance. Rather, she wore the _concept_ of grief with elegance. There was nothing upon her face, or in her demeanor, which suggested sadness. She held herself with the same poise as ever, head high, regarding them both as a woman of her station, not a grieving widow. It settled heavily in Mark’s gut.

“Thank you for seeing me, Jackson. I know that things must be… difficult for you.” The woman said in the common tongue. There was something like condescension in the way she said the prince’s nickname that made it sound disingenuous on her tongue. She didn’t deserve to use it, Mark thought, as it was not spoken with fondness. She seemed to catch herself, speaking in a much more measured pace as she continued. “It has been difficult for us all, of course.” 

“You needn’t speak slowly, Majesty… I am quite fluent in the common tongue.” Jackson told her in the very same language. “But please speak it, as I know that is what you are most comfortable with.”

The woman attempted to appear unfettered as she straightened up in her chair, squaring her shoulders. “Very well. I wished to discuss several matters of importance… your father, of course, left this world much earlier than he ever intended… he certainly must have expected that you would have come of age, given his instructions on succession.”

Jackson swallowed down a less-than-cordial response, taking pause before replying. “I am less than a full year from my birthday. Surely—”

“While your father’s instructions for succession leave much to be desired, the laws are clear.” She interrupted. “I will preside as queen regent until you reach your next year, and then we may begin preparations on your coronation.”

Jackson didn’t have the will to argue. He bowed. “Yes, Majesty.”

The woman gave a satisfied smile, glancing over in Mark’s direction. “Ah, yes. Would you also tell your guard that the Order has asked for his presence?”

She retrieved a scroll from the belt of her robe, brandishing it as though it were a weapon in her hands. Mark distinctly felt, in that moment, that it was.

“He needs no translation; he also speaks the common tongue. He speaks more languages than you or I.” Jackson replied with thinly-veiled exasperation. “Why would the Order have need of him? Now, of all times?” 

“The summons did not say.” His stepmother replied, handing the scroll to her guard, who passed it down to Mark. He took it, noting the broken, but distinctive, seal of the Order, and that the letter was signed by the Elder’s own hand.

“It does say that the request is urgent.” Mark spoke aloud as he read, closing the scroll as he looked to Jackson. “I do not favor leaving the prince without adequate protection, especially at such a delicate time.”

“Take him with you, then.” The queen regent said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Surely there would be no safer place for him than among the men trained to protect those in his station.”

He did not favor taking Jackson so far from the kingdom, either, especially this soon after his father’s passing… but he preferred it to leaving the prince here without his protection.

“I will go with you.” Jackson told him, determined. He had always wanted to learn more about the Order, and to see its stronghold in the desert lands was an opportunity he could not pass up. After all, his father had wanted him to be raised with a wealth of knowledge and experiences. He imagined it would make him proud to see his son learning in this way.

“The journey is long. For only one man to watch over our prince… would you have a traveling party?” The queen regent asked in too light a tone.

“If your majesty would spare one.” Mark replied cordially.

“Surely I can manage without a few of my men.” She responded in that teasing drawl of hers, motioning to the guard at her left. He nodded and bowed, taking off to make the preparations. “I would suggest you leave at dawn’s first light.”

“We are in agreement on that, Majesty.” Mark replied, bowing. “My gratitude for your help. Please have a pleasant evening.”

The woman gave a dismissive hum, waving him off. Jackson didn’t say anything further, merely bowing and following his guard out.

Once they had passed through the throne room doors, Jackson felt as though he may collapse; all that tension leaving him at once. He leaned against the outer palace wall, heaving a great sigh.

“Highness?” Mark asked softly, reaching out to cradle his hand along the curve of his elbow, a grounding gesture.

Jackson shook his head, making a quelling motion with his other hand. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Mark didn’t believe him. “You’re sure this is a journey you want to take? So soon after—”

“He would have been proud, I think.” Jackson assured him, and perhaps he was assuring himself, too. “How many foreign dignitaries, artisans, masters of their craft, had he brought here to teach me anything and everything all the lands had to offer? The greatest learning experiences of all come from journeys like these.”

Mark nodded. “Very well. We leave at dawn. Please rest well, Highness.”

The sentiment was a kind one, but Jackson hardly found any sleep, and what little he did was punctuated with nightmares of his father, his form shredded by teeth like blades and bloody claws before being consumed in fur of orange and black.

***

The next morning, Mark could clearly see that the night had not been kind to his prince, and offered once more for him to change his mind.

“I am going with you.” He had insisted around a mouthful of plum, pointing at him with the half-eaten fruit still in his hand. “Now prepare the horses.”

They set off with a caravan of just four additional men, the king’s most loyal, mounted upon the finest of the royal horses. There was a single caravan pulled by two camels which came along with them, for supplies as well as a defensible place for the prince to rest. The journey would take several days, and while it would lead them through largely friendly territory, the borders along the desert lands had always been tumultuous.

Jackson rode alongside Mark on horseback for the first leg of the journey. He enjoyed the scenery… it had been such a long time since he had gone past the palace walls that it felt good to take it all in, to watch the countryside pass them by. But after long hours in the saddle, he grew weary of it, and let his horse walk next to the caravan while he rested inside, helping himself to some of the rations. Mark joined him, one of the perks of being guard to the prince. The space was cramped, but just enough for Jackson to lie down and Mark to sit near the door or the front of the wagon without disturbing him. The assassin ate an apple in silence, sticking his hand out of the caravan to allow his horse to eat the core once he was done. Jackson just snorted and called him a sap for coddling his horse, but Mark had always had a soft spot for the beasts, so it couldn’t be helped.

When night fell, they found a lightly wooded area to rest the caravan, near a lake just outside the Shen Kingdom. The horses were allowed to mill about and hydrate, though the camels didn’t seem quite as interested. Mark filled a few of the travel gourds with water while Jackson freshened up a little in the shallows of the lake, rinsing the grime of travel from his face and hands. He’d started a small splashing war with Mark, which didn’t seem to amuse the assassin, but he entertained him regardless until the two of them returned to camp, clothes and hair damp, with smiles on their faces.

The guards took shifts for watch, Mark remaining awake in the caravan during the first just out of habit, wanting to ensure the other guards weren’t slacking in their duties. Eventually he found rest as well, unbothered by the hard wooden edges of the the cart, for it had hardly been the worst place he was forced to sleep in all his life. He would never tell a soul, but there were some nights when he would sleep in his own room against the door or window or wall, forgoing the comfort of his bed every so often, just so he did not grow too complacent in it.

Mark awoke with the dawn, but allowed Jackson a little more rest as he helped the guards break down the camp and prepare to leave. The prince was still dozing when they decided to head out, wanting to make progress before they lost more daylight. Eventually, a very sleepy looking Jackson poked his head out of the back window of the caravan, squinting against the bright sun. It took several seconds for his eyes to focus, eventually finding Mark, who was riding just behind the caravan. The man grinned at him, noticing he looked well-rested despite being away from home.

“Good morning, Highness. Did sleep find you well?” The assassin asked in a teasing tone.

“I slept fine.” Jackson retorted, making a face at him. “How long have we been riding?”

“Not long at all. An hour, at most. Would you care to join me?”

Jackson just grunted in affirmation, grabbing himself a plum before making his way out of the caravan and onto his horse.

He and Mark chatted idly in that unique language of theirs, earning confused and curious glances from the guards. Jackson asked a bit about the Order, since he wanted to know what to expect. Mark explained that the desert lands, where the Order’s stronghold was located, was nestled directly between the Eastern and Western lands. Jackson, of course, knew it had become a central hub of travel and trade, but within the Order itself, it was actually quite common to see people from all over the world. Mark, of course, was from the East, and he had known many assassins who shared this in common with him. The majority of those trained by the Order were from the desert lands themselves, but there were also those from the southern and eastern islands, and even the West. 

Once more when the sun sank low against the horizon, the party made camp in a sparsely-wooded area, though they’d managed to find little more than a stream for their water source this time. As they approached the desert, lakes and rivers had begun shrinking, the land offering little more than tepid ponds and babbling brooks. This, thankfully, would be the last night they would need to camp, since it would only be another half-day’s journey to reach the Order stronghold.

After moonrise, Jackson had settled into the caravan on his straw mattress, staring at the ceiling as sleep eluded him. Mark could sense his frustration; his huffs and sighs had not gone unnoticed, but it was some time before he acknowledged it, hoping that Jackson would eventually find sleep. That hadn’t been the case, and so he looked over to his prince from where he leaned against the frame of the wagon.

“Something troubles you, Highness.” It flatly wasn’t a question, though it could easily be taken as one. After a long pause, he was answered.

“What do you suppose you’ve been summoned for?” Jackson asked, his voice nearly a whisper, curiosity coloring his tone.

“I’ve admittedly given it quite a bit of thought, and I haven’t the slightest idea.” Mark conceded. “In truth, every reason I’ve thought up is not a good one. Is the Order in peril? Has the Elder’s health declined? Am I being asked to take on a new charge?”

Jackson perked up at that, looking over at the other. “A new charge? But… when you came to my kingdom, you swore fealty to my family, until death.”

“Precisely, which is why it doesn’t make any sense.” Mark replied. “It is not unheard of, but it is not common. An assassin’s service to a kingdom is for life, that is the way of things.”

Jackson seemed relieved to hear that, but there was still that fear nagging at the back of his mind. He worried at his bottom lip, fingers twisting anxiously at the hem of his robe. “Mark, if they want you to leave me, I…”

He couldn’t find the words. Perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to say them. He did not want him to go, but he did not know how to ask him to stay.

“The Elder’s timing is… inconvenient, to say the least, for whatever it is that he may need.” Mark began, delicately. “But if he were to request my services elsewhere… I would ask that he reconsider.”

“You would… ask...” Jackson murmured, unconvinced.

“Sternly. With prejudice.” Mark elaborated. Then, he sighed. “In honesty, I would outright refuse.”

“Refusing… is an option?” Jackson asked, tone hopeful.

“Certainly, under penalty of death.” Mark retorted sardonically. That earned a horrified glance from the prince, which the other waved off. “That is a bridge we need not cross until we come upon it. We cannot possibly know why the Elder has need of me. You shouldn’t worry yourself over it.”

But Jackson did worry himself over it, long into the night, and he did not rest well knowing that he may be spending what would become his final moments with his guard, his _friend_. Fate had already seen his father taken from him… would life truly treat him so cruelly as to see him lose his only friend, too? 

The final morning of their journey dawned, but Jackson had not found sleep until mere hours before sunrise. Mark could tell he was still deep in his dreams when the sun rose, as the prince was mumbling, twitching softly against his silken blankets. Mark did his best not to disturb him, letting the guards handle breaking down the camp and remaining in the caravan with his charge, still and silent. He only moved to grab himself something to eat, sitting up by the front of the wagon nearer to Jackson’s pillows as he finished off a slightly overripe plum.

Mark felt something grab at the tails of his tunic, and looked down to see Jackson had taken hold of it, pulling it close to his chest in his sleep. He was still mumbling, too quiet or simply too nonsensical for Mark to make out, but it sounded like a desperate plea, the prince’s face twisted up in raw agony. The assassin rested his hand along the curve of Jackson’s shoulder, shushing him softly with soothing reassurances.

“I’ll stay.” He murmured, and the prince’s expression melted into one of calm contentment.

Jackson slept until the sun was its highest in the sky, but Mark did not leave his side. The guards didn’t disturb the two, either, knowing their prince was not used to such a journey and it had likely exhausted him. When he finally awoke, Mark didn’t ask how he slept. He simply offered a soft smile, patted his shoulder, and headed out of the caravan to ride along with the guards without saying a word.

The prince didn’t emerge until a bit into the afternoon, when he noticed the terrain becoming rockier, causing the wagon to jolt and shake. Mark grinned in amusement at his annoyed expression as he poked his head through the window, trying to gauge just where they were on their journey.

“We’ve nearly arrived.” Mark told him, motioning to Jackson’s horse. “Ride up with me?”

The prince nodded, and left the caravan to mount up beside him.

The landscape had changed… the forests becoming sparser, the air drier. The sun even seemed to beat down upon them harder, the breeze weaker than it had been all season. Eventually, they could make out the shape of a city looming in the distance. As it grew ever closer, he was able to make out more details, to see how the village was spread out across rolling hills, a massive fortress at the very precipice. Mark explained that the largest building in the city, the one which dwarfed all the others, was not the palace of a king, but the Order’s stronghold.

Jackson stared up at the building in awe as they approached. The first thing he noticed about the architecture was how flat everything was; there were no curved, tiled roofs or decorative ceramic. Only the top-most tower was domed, gleaming golden in the sun. There were archways carved into the pale stone, some inlaid with gilded glass, the towers reaching up as far as the eye could see there upon the hill. It was truly something to behold. The prince also noticed birds circling the parapets, not buzzards or even gulls but hawks. One which was particularly close swooped down with a loud caw and landed on the gauntlet of an assassin. The man gave him a small bit of meat as reward, taking the small scroll tied on its foot before bringing it to a massive wooden structure near the stronghold’s outer wall. Jackson realized it was an aviary.

“The Order receives most of its messages, including updates on missions, by hawk.” Mark explained.

Jackson had some experience in falconry (one of his father’s many forced exploits), but nothing like this. There had to be a thousand birds between the aviary and the sky. It was a sight to behold.

As they rode closer, it seemed that every person near the stronghold wore white linens and brown leather, just as Mark did, hoods covering the top halves of their faces. Mark explained to Jackson that the rank of an assassin could be determined by the weapons he held, and therefore the type of belt he wore, as well as the distinctive patterning along the top hem of his sleeves. The more complex the design, the higher their rank. For the first time, Jackson took the time to study the pattern of the trim along his shoulder, only visible at the bottom, as his leather armor covered the rest. It was an intricate geometric pattern woven into the white hem in thick black thread.

Jackson tried to get a good look at the other assassins’ tunics, but at a distance they were hard to see. It wasn’t until they’d pulled the caravan to a stop and dismounted that he was able to get a good look. The assassins whose job it was to guard the palace seemed to have fairly fanciful patterns on their hems, but nothing even close to Mark’s. The ones who attended them, to their horses, or were training on the grounds, they seemed to have nothing more than a few lines or swirls along their hems, as well as carrying far fewer weapons.

Mark seemed amused as he nudged him along, up the cobbled pathways leading to the stronghold. Their guards brought the caravan around to the other side of the building with guidance from the attendants, looking for the stables.

“You may want to lift your jaw from the floor before we go inside.” Mark teased, grinning at Jackson.

The prince was unperturbed, however, enjoying himself too much to be insulted. “You grew up here? This place is amazing.”

“Eh, your palace is much nicer, and the weather in the East is kinder, especially the sun.” Mark quipped, smirking.

Jackson rolled his eyes, punching the other’s arm.

Once they reached the stronghold, they were brought inside, Mark being directed to the Elder’s office. He pointed down the hall, motioning to one of the guards. “They can show you to the courtyard, you can wait for me there. I’ll be just upstairs.”

Jackson nodded in agreement, too excited to be left to his own volition in a new place. He walked with the unfamiliar assassin toward the back of the stronghold where a massive courtyard looked out onto the sprawling desert beyond. It was incredible to see where the eastern and western lands merged; to his right, there was still lush greenery, a massive forest stretching out as far as the eye could see. And to his left, there was only a sea of gleaming sand, seemingly endless. It was only fitting that such a glorious place be built there between them, right in the middle.

Mark made his way up the winding stone steps to the Elder’s office. The man was waiting there for him, smiling genially when he entered. The two guards flanking either wall remained stone-faced, staring blankly ahead.

“Welcome, Mark, my son.” The Elder said, speaking the language of the desert, native to this country and known to all members of the Order, including him. He crossed the room and greeted the other warmly in the traditional way, with a strong hug, hands gripping tightly to firearms between them. “It has been too long.”

Mark bowed once they parted, low and respectful. “I agree that it has been too long, indeed. But I must confess that your summons came at a time which was… not ideal.”

“Mm… a kingdom on the cusp of coronating a new, young ruler… some would find this to be as ideal timing as could be asked of the universe.”

Mark’s brow furrowed. “Depending on their intention, yes.”

“Intention has the implication of being far too personal.” The Elder replied slowly, moving aside so that Mark had full view of his desk, and what was upon it; a chest, emblazoned with the symbol of the united western kingdoms.

“Elder?” Mark questioned, looking to the other for an explanation.

“For centuries we have served the interests of the East.” He explained. “But no longer. We have chosen to ally with the West in the coming age.”

Mark could not fully hide his disgust or his confusion, balking. “Why?”

“We sit cradled between the East and West lands, there is no reason why one should have our loyalty over the other, save incentive.” The Elder countered. “The West has given greater incentive.”

“No reason?” Mark scoffed. “The Eastern empires have stood for longer than the Western lands have even known to till their soil. They are primitive, warmongering—“

“Mark.” The Elder hissed, cutting him off. “The sun sets on that way. It rises at the dawn of a new era.”

“And this new era… just how much bloodshed is it to be built upon?” Mark asked coldly.

“As little as possible.” The Elder replied with something like reassurance. “Your new mission is the catalyst to the beginning of this new era.”

Mark felt his heart sink into his stomach. “And what mission would that be?”

The Elder squared his shoulders. “To eliminate Prince Jiaren Wang and allow the Queen Regent to be instated as permanent ruler in his stead.”

“My charge?” Mark hissed. “You wish me to turn on the man I have sworn a blood oath to protect?”

“At the Order’s behest. What is given, may also be taken away.” The man reasoned. “Once the Wang kingdom is within Western control, we will send our emissaries to inform the remaining Order guards of our—”

“Don’t.” Mark hissed, clenching his left fist so hard that he felt his hidden blade brush the inside of his wrist where it sat nestled within its gauntlet. “Do not do this. Do not break with centuries of tradition for an allyship which cannot possibly be sustained.”

“Now you find yourself worried with tradition? Our tenets have always dictated that all of us, whether Elder or acolyte, follow the will of the Order. This is the will of the Order. That is our creed.”

“As decided by you.” Mark snarled. “With the heart of a man so clearly influenced by silver and gold.”

“It is a promise of longevity.” The Elder argued. “In a changing world, we must adapt.”

Mark scoffed, turning on a heel. “Do not ask this of me. My loyalties cannot be swayed so easily as yours.”

“Your loyalties lie with the Order, above all else!” The Elder growled. “Do not break the creed! This is your duty!”

“My loyalty lies with the family I was assigned, by the Order.” Mark snapped, not even looking back as he strode toward the door. “And my duty is to protect him.”

“Don’t do this. Mark, stop!” The Elder’s voice was desperate, for a moment, and then… cold. The tone was stern, but almost regretful when he continued, as though resigned. “Yi En Tuan!”

Mark halted upon hearing that, his body going rigid. He felt a tremor run down his spine, a physical thing, a manifestation of just what the man had done. He tilted his head back just enough to regard the other over his shoulder, his words quiet. “You restore my birth name and strip me of my title?”

“If you do not do this… then you leave me no choice.” The man intoned, dread weighing down every syllable.

Mark snorted, turning back toward the door. “You revoke me. Then my loyalties are not to you any longer.”

The Elder stiffened. The guards flanking the room shifted. And Mark...

Mark ran.

Bolting toward the door with such speed that his form almost seemed a blur, he darted past the guards and slipped through the archway and into the overlook above the courtyard. Jackson was still milling around by the fountain, completely oblivious. Mark vaulted over the balustrade and landed in a clean crouch upon the ground below, rolling to soften the fall. He slid right up onto his feet in a natural motion, closing the distance between himself and his charge.

Jackson’s face lit up a little, in the way it always did when they spent any time apart only to be reunited, and it made Mark’s heart twist behind his rib cage. Any regret or trepidation he’d had… it would have been minuscule, but now, it had been ground to dust. Jackson saw the look on the other’s face, and his expression fell. He could tell something was wrong.

“You’ve been betrayed.” Mark hissed out, taking Jackson’s hand tightly in his own and only uttering a single thing further: “Run!”

His grip remaining secure, he lunged toward the courtyard gate, Jackson following close behind. His prince was able to keep up, managing not to stumble despite their pace… but the concern and confusion upon his face was plain as day. They reached the caravan only to find that their guardsmen had been slain, lying in bloody heaps next to the open wagon. Jackson made a horrified sound, but Mark ushered him up onto his horse. He could hear commotion just behind them, knowing that someone must have been sent after them. They didn’t have much time.

Once Jackson was settled into the saddle, Mark checked him over. “Head for the river and don’t stop riding!”

“Mark, what about—”

“Go!” Mark shouted, swatting the horse’s flank hard. It took off with haste, loping down the winding path of the hill and toward the forest looming on the horizon in the distance.

Jackson’s noise of protest was drowned out by the cacophony of pounding hooves, angered shouts and distressed whinnies from well behind him. He took the reigns and craned his head back to see that Mark had mounted up as well, but he was not moving; he had retrieved his bow from his saddle and nocked an arrow, aiming it toward the oncoming squadron.

The shot could do nothing in Mark’s expert hands but fly true: the arrow found its rest buried in the neck of one of the assassins, just above the line of his leather armor. At such a limited range, a shot would have pierced the armor, but guaranteeing a fatal strike was harder. Mark endeavored to take no chances.

Nocking another arrow, Mark aimed for one of the other men, taking quick stock of the state of their boots before firing. The assassin to the far right dropped from his mount, rolling along the dirt before falling deathly still. Of the few assassins in pursuit of them, his boots had indeed been the filthiest.

He could not always describe how his mind worked… honing in on minute details that others would likely gloss over, unconcerned or simply unknowing of their potential meaning. But for an assassin not assigned to a comfortable position such as he was, dirty boots were a sign of many missions come and gone; the mark of an experienced assassin. Given a closer look, he could have regaled just which lands the man had recently traveled to… but that was hardly his concern now. Now, his mission was to limit the number of experienced mercenaries on his prince’s tail, making it all the easier for him to eliminate them should it come to a closer confrontation.

The men had gained too much ground. Mark loosed another arrow, and it found its mark, embedding into the chest of the assassin in the center and knocking him from his horse. He could not guarantee a kill with such a hit, but he would be guaranteeing one less pursuer; there were only three, now.

Sliding his bow to rest across his shoulder, he turned away from his enemies and kicked his steed’s flanks, lashing the reins. The horse jolted forward obediently, quickly picking up speed and loping ahead. In no time at all, they had caught up to Jackson, most likely the prince’s own doing in allowing his horse to slow. Mark did his best to stay just behind Jackson, but his charged had none of it, banking off to the side and decreasing his speed minutely so that their clip matched.

“They’re still coming!” Jackson shouted over the rush of wind.

“I couldn’t stop them all.” Mark explained. He ducked instinctively when an arrow whizzed past the narrow space between them, and he glanced back to see that their pursuers had loaded their bows, firing as they rode. Mark cursed, shifting on his saddle. “Keep your pace and don’t stop! Slide forward on your saddle.”

Jackson nodded and obeyed, shifting until he was as close to the horse’s neck as he could manage. He had to swallow several questions and at least one colorful curse as Mark stood in his own saddle, feet moving from the stirrups to the seat. He remained crouched, keeping his center of gravity low and arms outstretched to balance himself. He gave a cursory glance ahead to see that the forest was looming nearer… he would have to do this now, or miss his chance.

Mark took a steadying breath, then another. Their horses transitioned into perfect unison, matched stride for stride, and he jumped.

Jackson lurched forward a bit from the force of it, the horse jarred a little underneath them as well, but trained as it was, continued galloping. Mark slid into the saddle behind Jackson, taking the reins from him. The prince acquiesced the stirrups as well, giving Mark full control of their steed.

The line of trees flew past them just as Mark settled in, and his own horse banked off to avoid it. He regretted leaving it behind, but he’d had little choice.

“This will slow us, but it’s the only way I can guarantee you won’t take an arrow.” Mark said over the rush of wind flying past them. The trees weren’t thick enough to cause them issue yet, but he was forced to execute a hairpin turn to avoid one regardless. “While they’re still in pursuit like this, I can’t ensure your safety otherwise.”

Jackson’s entire spine went rigid. Did Mark intend to use his own body as a human shield? Did he believe he could impart that information so casually, as though Jackson would readily agree? He opened his mouth to protest, but Mark was speaking again.

“We need to get to the river. Crossing it will buy us some time, but we’ll still need to find a place to disappear and lie low.”

“A place to disappear?” Jackson balked. “I don’t understand… we should return home! The palace is plenty defensible, and—”

“Highness.” Mark’s voice was soft even beneath the stern tone, and that was how the prince knew that something terrible was at work. “The palace isn’t safe. There are people there who would harm you. I’ll… explain later. For now, we need to get past the river.”

Jackson gritted his teeth and held his questions, though there were easily a hundred brewing in his head. Who in the palace would betray him? Had the Order broken their alliance with the Eastern kingdoms? And if so, why was Mark not following along with them?

His thoughts were suddenly derailed when an arrow whizzed past them, lodging into a tree to their immediate right. Mark cursed and wove the horse around the cover of several larger trunks, trying to limit their pursuers’ field of aim. The arrows came regardless, whistling through the air too close for comfort. Several embedded deep into the trees ahead of them while some glanced off too-small saplings and ricocheted to the forest floor.

In the distance, he could see unfiltered sunlight where the trees ended for a short stretch of grass. Mark had to do something before they reached the meadow, where their aim would be unimpeded. He slid his feet out of the stirrups, pressing the reins into Jackson’s hands.

“Don’t stop riding. Whatever happens, don’t stop.”

“Mark, wait! What are you going to do?” Despite the desperation of Jackson’s query, he received no reply.

Mark’s keen eyes caught sight of a fletching in a tree ahead of them, and readied himself. When the horse passed it by, he grabbed for the arrow, using it as leverage so that he could lift himself out of the saddle and control his momentum into an arc around the tree. He spun and used that force to land a hard kick on one of the pursuing riders, knocking him from his saddle and sliding into it in his stead. He tumbled to the forest floor, likely injured but certainly not dead. It would have to do for now.

The other two riders closed the distance quickly, flanking him from either side. Perhaps they believed two-on-one would be an advantage… unfortunately, they were sorely mistaken.

They caught his pace in a near instant, the one to his right brandishing a lance. He had gauged that the man on his left had a sword which could not as easily reach him at this distance and chose to focus his attention on the other for the time being.

The lance came for him in a sloppy stabbing motion. He bent back in his saddle to avoid it, then wrapped his arm around the pole and yanked hard. His attacker didn’t seem to expect the tactic, his expression colored with confusion. He was nearly pulled from his saddle and had to let go of the weapon just to steady himself.

Mark wrapped the reins around his hands, alternated his grip on the center of the lance, braced himself in the stirrups and promptly halted the horse.

Wood splintered, the pole of the lance snapping to either side of him as the two other riders met it at the chest, the force of it knocking them from their horses and the wind out of their lungs. They writhed on the ground, wheezing as their horses bucked in confusion and stopped several paces away. It gave Mark a chance to settle back into the saddle and lash the reins, discarding the broken weapon as he took off to catch up to his prince.

“Mark!” Jackson called back in relief once he caught sight of him. He slowed his horse, letting the other saddle up behind him again much easier than the first time.

“Keep riding, I don’t know how long I’ve bought us.” Mark explained, and just as he had, he caught wind of a sound from behind them. He turned back to see the first assassin he’d knocked off his mount had taken one of the other horses to catch up with them, his bow at the ready.

Mark cursed. Their pursuer had one shot before they reached the other side of the meadow, but he only had one chance, in turn, to dodge. He hunched against Jackson, ensuring he was shielding the other, then took the reins around his wrists. He slowed his breathing, tuning out everything else around him. He heard the hoofbeats beneath him and behind… the quick, steady beat of his own heart in his chest… the air rushing past… and then, the twang of a bowstring, crystal clear.

Mark cut the reins to the right, hard. The horse turned as fast as it could, but the assassin still felt a sharp and sudden pain bloom across his shoulder blade. He swallowed the agonized sound that threatened to leave his throat, tightening his jaw around a soft grunt.

But Jackson heard it… Mark’s obvious pain as he involuntarily lurched closer to the other, his chin bumping the prince’s shoulder as he seethed in agony before willing it away and lashing at the reins again.

“Mark?” The query was a desperate, worried plea, but when he looked back to assess the situation, he was met with his worst fear: he could see clearly the shaft of an arrow protruding from his guard’s back, the fletching hovering there over his shoulder, plainly visible. “Gods, Mark, you’re—“

“It’s fine. We have to keep going.” Mark seethed through gritted teeth, every lope of the horse’s hooves causing the arrow to shift, tearing the flesh further.

He glanced back to see that their pursuer had stopped and doubled back, likely to meet up with his comrades. That would buy them time… they had to use it to their advantage.

 

They rode until the sun was low in the sky, crossing the river at its shallowest point before following it northeast until day made way to dusk. Mark knew the river was fed from a larger one which met up with several small villages and towns… if they kept heading east, they’d come across them eventually. But as the sun sank lower, their visibility was too limited to continue, and they decided to make camp against a berm where a cluster of trees had grown too close together, their roots tangling and packing dirt into a wide, high arc like a shallow cave.

Mark tied their horse on a long lead near the river so it could drink, patting its neck in gratitude for a job well done. The beast seemed too preoccupied with the cool, refreshing water to pay him any mind.

Another stab of pain shot down his arm, reminding the assassin he still had an arrow in his shoulder. The skin had gone numb with all the riding, so he’d put it out of his mind. Now, he was distinctly aware of the pinprick sensation running down his arm. He grimaced, pulling the arrow out of the flesh and leather with a single, swift yank and biting down a snarl of pain. He peered at the tip of the arrow, too coated in blood to even see the wood and stone, and tossed it aside with a disdainful sneer.

“That wound needs to be cleaned.” Jackson said, then, regarding the other with concern. Mark’s entire sleeve down to the elbow was red with blood, a stark contrast upon the white linen. The brown leather covering his torso and up across his shoulders prevented him from seeing just how bad the wound itself was, but it was clearly not minor.

“It will have to wait. If they catch up, I’ll need to be prepared.” Mark replied, crouching next to the water to rinse the blood from his hands.

“Mark.” Jackson bit back harshly. “You can’t fight anyone if your injury isn’t treated. We would hear them coming and have some warning before they got to us. Please.”

The request was stern enough that it felt like an order. Mark sighed in acquiescence, sliding his bow off of his shoulder and unfastening the straps of his knife holster and belt, dropping them to the dirt with a grimace. He had to remove both gauntlets and his hidden blade before he could take off his armor. The white linen of his tunic underneath was stained red down the back from the small circular tear in the fabric. He was finally able to peel it off, irritation plain upon his face. He wasn’t keen on being this exposed while enemies were hot on their heels.

Jackson let out a hiss, seeing how the arrow had torn the skin while they had been riding. “We should’ve stopped sooner.”

“Not a risk we could take. _This_ is one I should not be taking.” Mark bit back, crouching by the river once more to scrub the blood from his back and arm.

Jackson helped him rinse the blood from his white linens, keeping his eyes trained dutifully on the fabric as he scrubbed. It was not often that he saw his guard's bare chest, but whenever he did, he always found his attention drawn to the long-faded scars upon it. Mark had never sustained a serious injury since pledging his services to the Wang family, so he found himself curious just how the man had received them. He knew it was his right to know, in some way... but title be damned; it felt like a violation to ask, so he never did. He reined in his errant thoughts, tearing the hem of his own silk tunic, wrapping the wound tightly around the shoulder. Mark offered him a grateful half-smile through his irritation, but the prince sensed the irritation was not for him.

Mark didn’t waste any time, quickly replacing his clothing, armor and gear. The damp linen of his tunic was cold against his skin, which was more soothing than it was uncomfortable given how the flesh around his wound was burning.

“We don’t have many supplies. We’ll need to make for the nearest village to stock up, and lie low while we get a read on the situation.” Mark told him, sifting through the saddlebags and coming back with a pomegranate. He pressed it into Jackson’s hand, giving him a stern look. “Eat something. We move again at dawn.”

“You promised me answers.” Jackson reminded him, fiddling with the fruit anxiously.

“I did.” Mark agreed, sighing as he took a seat on the ground beneath the berm of dirt and roots, a makeshift shelter beneath the canopy of leaves above.

Jackson joined him, cradling the pomegranate in his lap, staring at it for a long moment before speaking. “The Order has served the Eastern Kingdoms for centuries. Why… were we attacked by them today?”

“They have chosen to ally themselves elsewhere.” Mark answered in a bitter tone, his eyes on the distance, watching as the last tendrils of sunlight sunk beneath the horizon.

“Earlier you said that I had been betrayed.” Jackson murmured.

Mark nodded. “The Order has allied with the West. Your father’s death… the ascension of your stepmother… this was the catalyst for their new initiative. They plan to use the Order guards stationed in all the Eastern kingdoms to ensure Western rulers are not met with resistance when they take their thrones… the thrones of our people.”

Jackson looked up, finally, horrified. “Every Noble family in the East has a member of the Order charged with protecting them.”

Mark nodded. “The West began encouraging marriages of their own nobility to Eastern kingdoms not so long ago. They must have planned on buying the Order’s loyalty all along to leverage themselves a greater advantage in this… power play they’ve schemed.”

“So you were expected to… follow the Order?” Jackson asked softly.

Mark met his eyes, letting him see the truth of his words. “Yes. The Elder gave me a new mission. To assassinate you.”

Jackson blinked. “But you didn’t.”

“My loyalties lie with you.” Mark assured, squeezing the other’s shoulder as though to vouchsafe the statement, to press the truth of it into his flesh with his fingertips, willing him to understand that it was more than mere words; it was an oath. “As it has always been.”

Jackson regarded him for a long, silent moment, his mouth hanging open but at a loss for words. The apparent betrayal of his stepmother, the shifting loyalties of the Order… all of it had been jarring and yet, this was what had surprised him most of all. He and Mark had a mutual respect for each other, surely… one who was not aware of their stations may have even mistaken them for friends. But Mark was, above all else, an assassin of the Order. To disobey their will was not only suicidal, it was traitorous to the very people who raised him, who made him who his was. Only one word clawed its way from Jackson’s throat, a single question… the only one that mattered.

“Why?”

His voice was raw and thready and Mark looked at him with something like fondness, his lips quirking up in just a hint of a smile before he schooled his features, his mouth pressed then into a grim line.

“Because my oath was not to the Order. When all is said and done, my oath was to you. Your father entrusted me with your safety… and when I realized he had been killed to further this plot… that the Order was, in a sense, behind it… my resolve to protect you only became stronger.”

“My father wasn’t killed by a tiger.” Jackson said, flatly not a question.

“He was. But it was orchestrated by someone within the palace. Someone who wished to set this plan in motion, with the Order to back them up.” Mark explained. “The Order called me here to give me my new mission to ensure that I would carry it out, or to put me down if I didn’t.”

Jackson took a breath, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “But the Order… raised you. They trained you. They expect that you follow any order they give… if they ordered you to kill yourself, you would be expected to obey without question! You told me this, when you first came to my kingdom, as a testament to your loyalty. But that loyalty is to the creed of the Order, not to the Wang family. Not to me.”

“Perhaps it is because I am not from the desert lands as the Elder and many of the others in the Order are, but… I feel a strong sense of loyalty to the Eastern Kingdoms. I believe they have made a mistake allying with the West.” Mark explained.

“I just… don’t understand.” Jackson murmured.

“Why do you disbelieve me?” Mark asked, patience wearing thin. “You have suffered a great many betrayals today, but you must know that I stand to gain nothing by forsaking the Order to protect you only to turn on you later. My choice is made.”

“You could… always go back. You know… take me out, return to the sanctum and prove your loyalty to the Order. They might take you back.” Jackson tried.

Mark snorted. “I have no interest in killing you. But even if I did, it’s too late now. My name has been revoked. There’s never been an assassin in the history of the Order who came back from that.”

Jackson’s brow furrowed. “Revoked? I don’t understand.”

“Just as you are called Jackson, the nickname given to you by those who speak the Common tongue… Mark is not the name I was given at birth.” He explained. “In order to become an assassin, your entire life becomes stripped away until you are nothing but a vessel for the will of the Order. As a part of that, your name is taken from you, kept by the Elder in secrecy. Only he can revoke us. We are given simple names in the common tongue… symbols of our position as mere tools for the Order. Many times those names share meanings of simple objects, because we are meant to see ourselves as weapons, not people.”

Jackson’s head was bobbing habitually, but his head was swimming with images of a younger Mark, stripped of his identity and given a new purpose, one which did not care about his own well being or his autonomy. His stomach churned.

Mark continued, “Today, I heard my birth name for the first time since I was first handed a blade so many years ago… when I was just a child. The Elder revoked me when he called me Yi En Tuan.”

Tuan Yi En. Jackson turned the name around in his head, trying to form his tongue around the syllables without making a sound. It was a fair name, surely…. but just as he did not see himself as Jiaer, the name given to him by his father on the day he was born, he did not feel that Mark was Yi En… not anymore.

“You are still Mark to me.” Jackson assured, offering a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Some might see it as a dehumanizing thing, to be given a title instead of a name, to have your true name stripped from you, but… I have only ever known Mark. Just as you’ve only ever known Jackson. You may have caught glimpses of Jiaer in meetings with my father, entertaining foreign dignitaries with my knowledge of their culture and language. But that is not me. Jiaer is the mask. Jackson is who I truly am.”

Mark huffed the barest of laughs around a soft grin, his eyes falling closed in thought. “Mm, I think that I am Mark, then, too… I wouldn’t know how to be anyone else.”

“If you are no longer the Order’s Mark…” Jackson said, his hand sliding up the other’s arm to the crest of his shoulder, just where the leather of his armor ended and the light linen of his sleeve began. He squeezed there in reassurance, just as Mark had done for him some time earlier. “Then you are my Mark. I will count on your loyalty.”

“And you will always have it.” Mark promised, and it was one he intended to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may pop over to work on my other WIPs before plowing through the remaining chapters on this one but we will have to see. This is the most motivation I’ve felt to write in months so I had to get it out there! Ironically, all of this and a little bit of the start of the upcoming chapter 3 were originally intended to be all one chapter. Ha. I just didn’t want to post it as a 15k chapter, then disappoint with a bunch of much shorter ones, so I split it up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had only a bit of Ch 3 written and I decided to work on some other stuff, so sorry for the wait.

Night had fallen in the outer reaches of the forest, and a chill hung in the air, the breeze bringing with it a certain foreboding. No one had come for them as of yet… no one had come even close, judging by the fact that the only sounds around them were those of the forest and the occasional twitch or neigh from Jackson’s horse. The birds had fallen silent, the insects now singing their songs of dusk and twilight hidden throughout the trees.

Mark had advised against lighting a fire… it was too great a risk that it would get them spotted, and thankfully the spring evening was merciful. There was only the barest bite of chill in the air, and nary a breeze. The damp linen upon Mark’s shoulder had grown icy, but it was not cold enough that either of them became uncomfortable.

Jackson slept, at Mark’s behest. The assassin would eventually need sleep, but he hoped to make it to the next village first, somewhere they could find a defensible location to rest. 

It had been hours when Mark spotted three small points of light in the distance heading toward them. He focused on them, wondering if it was a mere trick of the night, but as they got closer, it was clear that it was indeed their pursuers, now on foot. They were close enough that he could hear their footfalls in the underbrush when he moved to wake Jackson, placing a hand over his mouth so he would not make a sound as he shook his shoulder gently with his free hand.

Jackson startled awake, gasping against the hand covering his lips. He glanced down to see that the hand was Mark’s, and relaxed, but only just.

“Shh…” It was so quiet that he felt the rush of air against his cheek more so than he heard it, Mark’s face mere inches from his own. “Don’t move. They’re coming.”

Mark felt Jackson nod against his hand, and only then did he let him go, slinking out of the alcove and into the night.

Jackson moved further against the wall of roots and dirt and moss, pressing himself into the cold soil and trying to slow his breathing. In the quiet of the forest, his pursuers would hear any sound he made. Their horse, thankfully, was asleep on his feet tied just behind the cluster of trees they’d made camp under, and hadn’t made a noise yet. He could hear the assassins, even at the distance they were, feet plodding through the underbrush and lanterns swinging on creaking metal hinges. They spoke in hushed, grumbling voices, nothing discernible from this far away… though he was certain they were not speaking the common tongue or his own native language regardless. He vaguely remembered once some time ago, Mark had told him that, amongst themselves, members of the Order usually spoke the language of the desert, as most of them were native to it.

He’d lost sight of Mark in the pitch black of the forest… he thought he caught a glimpse of the lantern-light glinting off of a steel blade far to the right of the search party and wondered if it had been his guard. But the men just kept getting closer, closer, and he worried for one brief, horrifying moment that Mark had no intention of attacking them, but every intention of allowing them to find him, to take him back to the Order, or to simply kill him. He wanted to believe all of Mark’s earlier assurances, but the pursuers were nearly on top of him, now, and he was nowhere to be found, and—

Just then, there was the hum of a blade leaving its scabbard. The men halted, their attention called to it. They were close enough for him to see their faces in the lamplight, now… they were all men of the desert based on their features, two with light brown skin and the other just a little paler. Their lanterns were hung atop wooden staffs held in their sword arms, and they brandished their smaller fighting knives in the other. In unison, they shoved the poles into the ground, drawing their primary weapons. Jackson gulped down the lump in his throat. Could Mark even face these men? It was three-on-one, regardless of the man’s skill.

There was the snap of a twig in the underbrush to the group’s left, and they each turned toward it, at the ready. But from their right, the flash of steel glinted in the lamplight. Jackson watched as the blade hidden under Mark’s wrist slid through the lacings at the side of one of the assassin’s armor, striking fatally. The man shouted in pain and turned with a swift swing of his sword, but Mark had already ducked out of the way and pivoted around him. He dropped his fighting knife to clutch at the wound, which was now gushing blood across his white linen tunic.

The two others moved, but steel met steel as Mark blocked a swordstrike with his hidden blade. The second man lunged in to attack, but Mark pushed him back with a swift kick to the chest. He parried a strike from the first man’s fighting knife with a quick turn, also avoiding a sloppy strike from the man bleeding behind him. He used the momentum to carry his sword through the uninjured assassin’s chest, narrowly avoiding the other as he stumbled past and fell into a heap nearby, the blood loss felling him. Mark left his sword wedged there in the assassin’s leather armor to regard the third and final attacker, who had fallen too close to their little alcove and noticed Jackson there, watching in wide-eyed horror.

The assassin got onto all fours to right himself, making to lunge for the prince, but just as he moved, Mark gripped him by his hood, fingers clenching so hard that he managed to snag the other’s hair underneath, causing him to let out an involuntary snarl of pain. He didn’t even have time to react before Mark buried his blade into his neck, though his eyes never left Jackson’s, as if he were ensuring the attacker had not come close enough to harm him. 

Mark pulled his blade from the man’s neck, shoving him away to bleed out on the dirt. He didn’t say anything as he wiped his weapon clean, then dragged him away, out of Jackson’s sight. He retrieved his sword before doing the same with the other two bodies. He checked each of the assassins for supplies, but they were not carrying much. He looted their arrows and lanterns, idly wondering if they’d left their horses nearby. Judging by how long it had taken them to find the two, he estimated they likely left their horses when they crossed the river, and ultimately decided it was not worth it to go looking. When he returned to the alcove where Jackson sat, he could see the prince was trying to calm himself down, taking one shaking breath after another.

“They’re dead.” Mark assured as he sat down next to him, placing a quelling hand on the other’s thigh. “The danger has passed… for now.”

Jackson gulped down a trembling breath, nodding as though trying to convince himself. “And you? You’re all right?”

“You act as though I’ve never had to kill someone in your presence.” Mark teased in a light tone, trying to lift the mood.

“Those hadn’t been your brothers.” Jackson countered. “Those were shades in the night… faceless killers lurking in the shadows. These were… they were your—“

“I didn’t know them.” Mark corrected, perhaps too aloof, but it was only to ease the other’s conscience. “And even if I had… they signed their death warrants when they agreed to this ludicrous shift in loyalties and accepted a mission to kill you, and me in turn.”

Jackson made a small, helpless noise. “You cannot possibly expect to face down the entirety of the Order…”

“I will. I will stand between you and whatever they send forth to us… I will fight until they manage to kill me, or until every last one of them is dead and you are safe.” Mark told him as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

“And what if they… manage to kill me?” Jackson asked, though he couldn’t say for sure just why he wanted to know.

“So long as I still draw breath… I’ll raze the entire Order to the ground.” Mark intoned, the words flat and deadly. Jackson could not help but be horrified by the thought, of either Mark standing before the bodies of countless of his brethren, or ending up slain among them.

And yet, at the same token, he felt relief. There was a sense of safety he felt in those words. No matter what came after him, Mark would protect him. He could take comfort in that.

The hand resting upon his thigh pulled away, and his skin suddenly felt cold. He followed the action, watching Mark brace his injured shoulder and roll his arm, clearly stifling a wince.

“In any case… those were the same three from before. It may be some time before the Order sends more, if fortune favors us. We should rest until the morning, and leave at first light.” Mark told him.

“You’ll sleep?” Jackson asked hopefully.

Mark nodded. “I don’t believe any more will come tonight.”

And Mark did sleep, though ever vigilant, remained aware of Jackson’s presence next to him, allowing the sounds of the forest to filter through his subconscious, just in case.

The rest the men found was fitful, but they did not wake again until the sun rose.

***

Morning came and with it, a sense of dread more so than the promise of a new day. Mark coughed softly into his hand as he prepared their horse, checking the saddle and tightening it a bit. What little sleep he’d gotten had left him feeling more weary than it usually would have, but it wasn’t something he could dwell on. His shoulder ached, alternating sensations of stinging pain and numbness shooting down his arm at intervals. He’d likely slept on it wrong and irritated his injury. Inconvenient, but again, something he could not worry about now. He brought the horse around to their little alcove, noticing one of the assassin’s fighting knives was still lying nearby, gleaming in the underbrush. He picked it up, just as Jackson approached.

“Highness, you should take this… in case there is ever a time when I cannot be there. You should protect yourself.”

The prince regarded the weapon for a moment, taking it and turning it over in his hands. “Quite unlike the blades I’ve trained with.”

Mark hummed in agreement. “The weapon styles you’ve mastered all deal with light weapons. Dao and rapiers are very different from each other, but they’re nothing like this. For your sake… treat it as a dagger.”

Jackson nodded. “As though I only get one strike.”

“Precisely. Any strike should be to kill. Don’t aim for the heart or gut… our armor is thick and your blade may end up pinned against it, if you’re able to penetrate it at all.” Mark took Jackson’s wrist and the blade with it, pressing the tip of it against his side. “Our armor is vulnerable at the laces, and the neck. Those should be your primary targets.”

Mark had moved Jackson’s hand again, forcing him to rest the knife against Mark’s neck, just where his armor ended. Jackson pulled away quickly, shivering. He had no qualms about protecting himself, but feeling as though his guard’s life was in his own hands, then… it was too much to consider. He’d lost so much already that the thought of it made his head spin.

The assassin regarded him curiously, but didn’t say anything as Jackson slipped the blade into his belt, hiding it behind the fold of his robe.

“Let’s hope I never have need of it.”

Mark nodded in agreement, lips pressed into a grim line as he patted the other’s shoulder. He mounted up, sliding back in the saddle and holding out a hand.

“Doesn’t the lead rider usually sit in front?” Jackson asked, a little wary that Mark was planning on taking more arrows for him.

Mark frowned. “If someone comes for you…”

Jackson sighed. “You won’t budge on this, will you?”

Mark shook his head, expression unchanging.

Jackson just nodded in assent, and perhaps defeat, taking his guard’s hand and mounting up in front of him. Once he was settled, Mark took the reins and stirrups, leading the horse northeast along the river, away from the Order’s stronghold. He kept their pace at a steady walk for the time being, not wanting to tire his prince or the horse too quickly.

“Last night, you said we needed to find a town to lie low in.” Jackson said, not really a question so much as a conversation-starter. He’d grown bored with the quiet of the forest and the steady plod of hooves beneath them.

“More than anything, we’ll need to stock up on supplies. We can’t possibly travel with so little.” Mark explained. “Most of our rations were in the caravan… we’re lucky we have what we do.”

“What, a highly-trained assassin of the Order can’t live off the land?” Jackson goaded, smirking over his shoulder.

“Of course I can. My concerns are for you, Highness.” Mark replied, his tone teasing. “I understand you are used to some level of luxury.”

“We are in the middle of nowhere with a single horse, being pursued by mercenaries ordered to kill on sight, unable to return to our kingdom as it’s been taken over in some kind of coup I wasn’t even present for… my expectation of luxury is exactly nil.” Jackson countered. “I’d like to live. I’d like you to live, with minimal injury. Those are my expectations.”

“I think we can manage that.” Mark assured him with a melancholy grin.

“My concern was more for what we planned to do after hiding out in this apparent nearby town.” Jackson elaborated. “You said we will be travelling. Travelling where? Where can we go?”

Mark nodded. “All fair questions. For now, I need to get a read on how the situation is being handled publically. After that, I believe we should make a break for the Wen Kingdom.”

“The Wen Kingdom?” Jackson asked, confused. “They are so far north of my kingdom. And we have no guarantee they haven’t succumbed to the same wicked schemes of the West.”

“The Wen Kingdom is ruled by its original eastern sovereigns. They have but one son, who is yet to be betrothed. Though word is that they were planning to wed him to a westerner come the summer.” Mark told him.

Jackson turned where he sat, a horrified look upon his face. “Then the Wen family… Prince Junhui… they are all in danger.”

“We will do everything that we can to help them.” Mark assured. “And, in exchange, I hope that they will help you take your kingdom back.”

Jackson’s voice went quiet, pensive. “You want to use their armies.”

“I want to prevent your strongest ally from becoming another victim in this plot.” Mark corrected. “But yes. I want to utilize their armies.”

Jackson looked ahead again, but he was lost in thought. It was several moments longer before he spoke, low and soft. “We will have to hurry. We must warn them before it’s too late.”

A reassurance caught in Mark’s throat, and he found himself coughing instead. The only response he managed was a hum of agreement once he regained his breath, but Jackson did not press him further.

***

The two rode for hours, until the sun was high and it began to affect them both. Despite that Mark felt much hotter than usual, his skin stifling under his linen and leather, Jackson was the first to complain. They were right next to the river, so he stopped them next to it, letting the horse rest and hydrate while they did the same.

Jackson dismounted first, all but leaping for the water. Mark went next, stumbling a little when he misjudged the distance to the ground in his haste. He shook it off, clearing his throat. The sun must have been taking more of a toll on him than he would have liked.

He led their horse to the water, making sure it started drinking before going for the river himself. When he knelt next to Jackson, his charge seemed to notice his discomfort, eyeing him critically.

“Maybe we should make camp for a short rest.” The prince suggested. “You seem… fatigued.”

“I’m fine.” Mark insisted, waving the other off. “It’s just the sun.”

Jackson squinted at him, bringing a finger up to run along his temple, slick with sweat. “I’ve never seen you like this. Not after fighting nor sparring… not even in the hottest season.”

Mark craned his head away, but Jackson’s touch only trailed lower, slipping down his cheek and neck.

“Your skin is blazing.” Jackson said, recoiling when he rested his hand against the leather on his chest only to feel the heat of it on his palm. “Mark, take this off! It’s practically on fire!”

“It would leave me more vulnerable.” Mark argued wearily. “It won’t be long until we’re at the next town. We can rest then.”

“You won’t _make_ it to the next town if you boil inside your own clothes.” Jackson grumbled.

“I will make it.” Mark bit back in an incredulous tone, standing and making his way back toward their horse… but his boot caught a large rock and he staggered, suddenly feeling as though the world itself had tilted. His vision swam as he tried to right himself, grabbing for the saddle to try to get his bearings. His perception of distance, however, had been off by some margin, and he stumbled forward, narrowly missing his target and barely managing to grab the stirrup before he could collapse entirely.

“Mark? Mark!” Jackson leapt up, getting to his guard just as he lost his grip and crumpled into a heap, falling into his prince’s arms and being spared the ground.

Mark’s eyes were fluttering, unfocused. He felt as though the entire world was a roiling tempest, tossing him through unforgiving waters. He was drowning, but he was burning, and everything was blazingly bright before going eerily dim. He was speaking, he swore he was… but nothing came out save garbled nonsense, little more than a groan of discomfort. He clutched at Jackson’s sleeve for some kind of purchase, but the world didn’t still, just continued to spin on until he was dizzy with it.

Jackson was panicked. Had it been the heat? The blood loss? The injury itself? He was not a healer… he didn’t know what to do. But the town… the town Mark insisted was nearby, it had to have a healer, he reasoned. It was his only chance… Mark would die if he didn’t get help. He had to hope there would be someone who could save him.

With a fair amount of effort, Jackson hauled Mark up onto the horse, the guard clearly trying his best to assist him despite his delirium. He settled into the saddle behind him, one hand on the reins while the other held Mark firmly across his chest, pressing him back into his own. He couldn’t lope, but he managed to keep the other upright with the horse at a steady canter, following the river due northeast. 

Jackson felt he’d been riding for an eternity, but he was sure not even an hour had passed before he saw the silhouette of rooftops against the horizon. He could have cried out in joy, kicking the horse’s flanks and holding tightly to Mark so he wouldn’t fall. His condition only seemed to have worsened; he was making little more than small grunts of discomfort every so many minutes, his eyes remaining closed, though he was clearly struggling to open them. Jackson found himself whispering sweet encouragements, telling him he would be all right, but it only devolved into begging him to be okay when he did not seem to respond.

He rode fast into town, loping down the main road until he spotted a small building with a dainty little sign labeling it as an apothecary. He barely managed to tie his horse’s reins around the designated pole, sliding off of the beast and easing Mark down as well. He pulled the assassin’s good arm over his shoulders, looping an arm around his waist and hauling him through the wooden lattice doors. A gong-like chime resounded as he entered, calling the attention of the man behind the counter. He was older, likely in his late forties, with a graying beard and a surly countenance.

“Please, my guard, he was shot… he needs a healer.” Jackson said in a desperate, breathless rush.

The old man squinted at him, grimacing. “Eh, I don’t have the time or the energy to perform any miracles today. Boy! Come in here, we have a patient!”

“Coming!” Called a much younger voice, its owner emerging from the door behind the counter. He was close to his own age, Jackson would have guessed, with soft features and somewhat lighter hair than he was used to seeing, as though it were kissed by the sun. His frazzled expression turned to one of concern when he saw the two men in the doorway. “Oh… bring him back here, quickly, and tell me what happened.”

“He was struck by an arrow a full day ago. We’ve been traveling and there was nowhere to stop and see it treated.” Jackson explained, his words still coming out in a desperate rush. “We stopped by the river and he just… collapsed. His skin was on fire. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s all right… you did well bringing him here.” The healer told him, a gentle assurance in his voice that was almost calming. They got Mark settled on one of the treatment tables, then Jackson set to helping the other remove all his armor and belts. He’d gone completely still and silent, which worried Jackson more than his nonsensical babbling had.

The healer pressed his hand to Mark’s neck, his cheek, his forehead, and finally his chest once they’d rid him of his tunic. He turned him to check the arrow wound, removing the makeshift bandage to get a better look.

“His temperature is very high… the wound is showing early signs of infection, but I also see indications that the arrow he was shot with had been tipped with poison.”

“Poison?” Jackson asked, feeling all the air leave his lungs. 

“Don’t panic. It seems he’s immunized himself to whatever it was, mostly, anyway. The body still has a reaction to these sorts of things, however. In this case, likely not fatal.”

“Likely?”

“What would be the point of poisoning oneself with the intent of not dying to those poisons if it did, in fact, still kill you?” The healer explained. “It’s not foolproof, but I have seen it work more often than not. I have a poultice for the wound to sterilize it, and a tincture to help his body fight the infection. But we need to get his temperature down.”

The healer got to work, fetching water which had been gathered from the river that very day. Kept inside, it had remained quite cool. He retrieved some fresh cloths, dipping them in the water and wiping the sweat from his brow, neck and chest. He left a soaked cloth on his patient’s forehead as he cleaned the wound, slathering a greenish-brown mixture into the open skin once all the blood was wiped away. He wrapped the injury in fresh bandages, and with a bit of effort, he managed to get him to swallow most of the draught he’d prepared, even if he had to force it down. Once he was finished, he let out a soft sigh of relief, leaning back against the counter nearby.

“Give him a few nights’ rest and he should recover just fine.”

Jackson jolted to attention, then, realizing he’d zoned out watching Mark’s face for any sign that he’d come to soon. “Oh… thank you, I… that’s a relief to hear.”

“What’s your name?” The healer asked, inclining his head.

Jackson blinked. “Huh?”

“Your name, I never got your name.” He clarified with an amused grin.

“Oh… um. It’s… Gaa-ji.” Jackson lied, using the pronunciation of his name from an obscure dialect of their native tongue that was largely spoken by scholars and royals.

“Well met, Gaa-ji.” The healer replied with an earnest smile. “I’m Youngjae. You must be a person of some note to be in the company of an Order guard.”

Jackson froze. “You… know of his…”

“Oh of course. It’s hard to miss those white tunics. No one here wears white except the priests, and only on religious occasions.” Youngjae explained, bemused. Jackson wondered how he could be so cheerful when there was a very ill man lying right before him.

“I… see. So the Order is quite renowned in these parts?”

“Well, anyone here would spot them out in a crowd, yes. But I just admire the Order. Their warriors are incredibly skilled. We don’t see them much around here, though. No one important enough to retain one as a guard lives anywhere near here, and they so seldom pass through.” Youngjae told him. “Unless they’re on their way to a mission in the East. We see their convoys from time to time.”

“Ah.” Jackson murmured. “That’s us. Just… passing through.”

Youngjae nodded. “Where are you headed?”

Jackson frowned. He wasn’t sure just how much he should say… but it probably wouldn’t hurt to be honest in case they needed directions, or rations, or help of any kind. “The Wen Kingdom.”

Youngjae whistled. “Oh, quite a ways from here. Do you travel often?”

“Not as much as I’d like.” Jackson admitted. “Though now, I’m beginning to regret even leaving home.”

“Mm, I suppose this isn’t the best way to begin your journey. But your guard will be well again in no time at all, and we can get you both back on the road.” Youngjae told him with a smile. “He’s stable for now, so you should let him rest. If you’d like to stay with him, you can… or you can wait somewhere more comfortable.”

“I’d like… to stay with him.” Jackson murmured, eyes tracking over Mark, the state of him… it scared him in a way he couldn’t explain. It felt as though Mark was all he had left. He couldn’t lose him, too, and to leave him there, to risk that something might happen when he wasn’t there… he couldn’t.

But Youngjae just smiled earnestly, and it was hard not to believe in his optimism. “All right. Just call if you need me, or if his condition changes.”

Jackson nodded, but his attention was still on Mark, even as the other man slipped out the door.

***

Mark didn’t move for a few hours. It was late in the afternoon by the time he stirred, groaning softly. His eyelids fluttered for several seconds before opening, and it took him a long moment to take in his surroundings and surmise where they were. When his eyes fell upon his prince, they softened, realizing he was safe.

“Mark! Oh thank the gods you’re awake…” Jackson all but cried, bolting over from the wicker chair he’d been resting on to go to his side.

“What… happened? Where are we?” Mark asked. He had a few guesses, but better to know for sure.

“We’re in a town not far from the river… I didn’t ask its name… gods, you fainted, and your skin was on fire… the healer said it was poison from the arrow, but that it may have also been infected—”

“Highness.” Mark hissed softly, just to stop his rambling. “I had a feeling the arrows had been tipped in something, but by the time I pulled it out, it was impossible to tell. I’ve immunized myself to most of the Order’s worst poisons anyhow.”

“That’s what the healer guessed.” Jackson murmured. “He knows you’re from the Order, but I haven’t told him who I am. I can’t be sure just who we can trust—”

“No, that’s smart.” Mark assured, groaning as he sat up, using Jackson’s shoulder as leverage.

The prince looked horrified, trying to nudge him back down. “You need to rest! You nearly died!”

“This is hardly a death sentence.” Mark countered, sitting up despite the protesting hands on him. “We need to keep moving. We can’t stay here for long, especially when I’ve already been spotted out.”

“Ah, Gaa-ji! I see your guard is awake.” Youngjae was beaming in the doorway as he came inside, setting down the bucket of water he was carrying. “I’m Youngjae, I’m the one who’s been seeing to your wounds. How are you feeling?”

“Somewhat dizzy. What did you give me?” Mark asked.

“Just a tincture to help your body fight the poison’s ill effects and stave off any looming infection.” Youngjae explained. “The salve on your wound should have helped the pain, too.”

Mark nodded. “It’s working.”

Youngjae positively beamed. “Oh, good! I’m glad to hear it. I brought some fresh water, it’s still cool… I was hoping to use it to keep your temperature reduced.”

Jackson moved out of the way, letting Youngjae dip the cloth into the water and wipe it gently along Mark’s forehead and neck before checking his cheek with the back of his palm.

“It’s gone down a lot. I believe the worst has passed.” Youngjae told him. “You can redress, if you’d prefer, though I would leave the armor off, for now.”

Mark nodded, pulling on his tunic. His fingers were trembling and he fumbled a bit with the knotted closures on the front, hissing in irritation at himself. He couldn’t be this weak, not at so critical a time. He couldn’t fail in his duties. He _couldn’t_. He had to protect his—

Jackson. Jackson, whose hand covered his own, then, brushing it away to help him with the loops closest to his neck, the ones he couldn’t look down at without getting dizzy again. Jackson, who hadn’t even had to worry about dressing himself until he was old enough to complain about being babied, ‘royal or not’, he’d said, Mark recalls the servants telling him one day after partaking in too much wine. _‘We could have ended up with one of these privileged brats who doesn’t even clean himself, but we got him, thank the gods.’_ He could think of several deities he would thank for Jackson. He laid a shaking hand over his prince’s, and whispered silent a prayer to each of them.

“You should rest… I understand that you’re likely eager to continue on your journey to the Wen Kingdom, but a few days’ bedrest would be ideal. Even one day would help. There’s an inn just down the road, or you’re welcome to stay here, though it isn’t as comfortable. ” Youngjae said, plucking a few phials from his collection. “I would recommend you take this over the next few days.”

“We couldn’t possibly impose further, and we do really need to be moving on soon.” Mark replied, standing slowly and trying for all the world not to stagger on his feet.

Jackson took the phials with a thank-you, stuffing them hastily into his belt before going to steady his guard. “You can’t. We can’t leave yet. At least a day. Please. You won’t… make it like this.”

An argument was on the tip of the assassin’s tongue, but he swallowed it when he saw that desperate look in his prince’s eyes again, the same one he’d given him just days before when he’d given him the worst news he would ever receive. He couldn’t stand to see him like that, and found himself looking away.

“One night.” Mark agreed softly. “It’s more time than we can afford to waste, but I seem to have little choice.”

Jackson nodded, sighing in relief. But he was startled suddenly by a loud sound from outside… some kind of fanfare. “What’s going on?”

“The horns… they signal the arrival of a royal emissary. The kingdoms send them after the birth of an heir, the death of a ruler… we’re usually the last to know out here. We’re so far from the larger kingdoms.”

“We should… go see what they have to announce.” Jackson said as casually as possible, even though his stomach was roiling with dread.

“I agree.” Mark replied, pulling on his armor.

Youngjae balked at him. “Are you arrogant or just dense? You shouldn’t wear that in this weather until you’ve healed.”

Mark ignored the insult, tying up his laces before replacing his gauntlets. “I acknowledge your warning. Doesn’t mean I can heed it. I would rather be overheated and protected, rather than comfortable and vulnerable.”

“But M—”

“Sire.” The guard cut Jackson off, opting not to reveal his prince’s actual title by calling him ‘Highness’, as he usually would. “I will not argue this. Now we should go.”

Jackson swallowed his argument, frowning as he followed him out the door, pressing several silver coins into Youngjae’s palm with a heartfelt thank-you as he went.

***

Outside, the royal convoy had drawn quite the crowd in the village square. Youngjae and the elder healer stood in the doorway of the apothecary to listen, though Mark and Jackson made their way past the crowd, trying to stay out of sight of the guards. The local officers came out to meet the entourage, keeping the crowd in check. They were doing little more than tittering curiously amongst themselves while the emissary conferred with the village elders and settled into the pagoda stage at the center of the square.

Jackson’s jaw clenched when he saw the distinctive banners being carried by the emissary’s guards: it was his stepmother’s crest. He’d never forget that garish symbol, never forget the feeling it gave him when he saw those tapestries replacing his family’s own, as though that rich history meant nothing, as though the Wang legacy had died with his father. He didn’t realize he’d been shaking with rage, didn’t realize his fist was balled at his side until Mark’s hand was at his elbow, his thumb running back and forth over his sleeve in a quelling gesture. He felt the tension bleed out of him with a rush of breath, trying to find his bearings again.

The emissary had opened a scroll, clearing his throat and demanding the attention of the crowd. At his left, three guards stood in a line, the first holding up a flattering obituarial portrait of the Wang Kingdom’s late king. Jackson felt all his rage fade away into sorrow… but Mark just squeezed his arm, holding him to the present. He couldn’t be dragged down into despair so long as his guard had him.

The emissary began by announcing the death of the king… citing it as a tragic accident, and assuring that it had not been for health reasons or an act of war. Jackson ground his teeth in rage. The two remaining guards unraveled their scrolls. Upon them were Jackson and Mark’s own likenesses, drawn in ink on parchment. They were strikingly accurate, though Mark’s expression was far too dark… the way they had sketched a scowling downward curl to his lips, his brows drawn close together as if in anger, it was not _his_ Mark. It was clearly intentional.

The emissary went on to claim that in the wake of their tragedy, the prince’s guard had seen opportunity… he had betrayed the family, kidnapping the king’s only son and heir. The queen was begging for the people’s help for his safe return. Jackson thought his teeth might crack, and he could not help the growl that escaped him at hearing something so utterly false.

Mark, however… Mark was just listening, little more than an incredulous sneer on his face. He wasn’t surprised to see the widowed queen utilizing such propaganda, but hearing it for himself was something else. He could feel the anger coming off of his prince in waves, and he almost seemed to lurch forward, as though to voice a protest.. He squeezed the other man’s arm again, bringing him back to himself in case he was tempted to do something so stupid.

Jackson took a breath, trying to calm down… but he was seeing red. It was bad enough that his stepmother was lying through her messengers about the circumstances surrounding his father’s death, but making Mark out to be a traitor, to claim that he had turned on him… that incensed him more than anything. He had to look away from the ludicrous scene before he did something idiotic.

His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for their reactions. Concerned murmuring, maybe even skeptical expressions… though that may have been wishful thinking on his part. The local police seemed to be entirely uninterested in the announcement, keeping their attention on the crowd. All but one… a handsome younger guard with dark hair, who was staring right at them, eyes narrowed.

Jackson caught the man’s gaze. He seemed to glance at Mark standing there next to him and made to move toward them, hand going to his sword.

But Jackson only met him with pleading eyes and shook his head, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder. The action caught Mark’s attention, his eyes tracking over to him, as if to determine something were wrong. He followed Jackson’s gaze, seeing where it had lighted upon the officer. He moved in front of his prince, barring his arm protectively across his front and nudging him behind him as he took stock of their surroundings, in case they needed to make a break for it. But the officer seemed to understand, merely stopping where he stood and giving a single nod before turning his attention back to the emissary, squinting in suspicion as he continued droning on.

“In the wake of this tragedy, we ask that anyone with information on the whereabouts of the prince and his traitorous guard to come forward. Do not approach this dangerous individual. Assassins from the Order have been dispatched to assist local police in apprehending him—”

“My deepest condolences to the Wang Kingdom!” Came a shout from somewhere not far off, interrupting the speech. All gazes turned to identify the source, which seemed to be a man standing upon a nearby rooftop. He was rolling a bauble of some kind around in his palm, making it appear that it was floating, as though by sorcery. “It’s truly a pity that such a great kingdom should fall into the hands of Western scum!”

The newcomer reeled back, pitching that bauble right at the emissary’s feet. The glass shattered, its contents erupting in flames, causing those inside the pagoda to startle, dropping their scrolls and portraits into the fire. The onlookers shrieked in shock, backing away in panic.

The local guards immediately began evacuating the villagers away from the area, leaving the emissary’s small convoy scrambling to deal with the disturbance. Mark reacted, too, hauling his prince closer by the grip he had on his arm until the other was tucked a bit further behind him where they stood some ways away from the crowd.

The stranger gave a satisfied bark of a laugh, gripping the angled parapet and using it to slide down to the ground. On the roof where he once stood, another figure emerged. He was young, younger even than the other, Jackson would have guessed. He gave a mischievous smile as he strummed at an instrument he recognized as a liuqin, hard and fast in a tangle of frenzied notes, just as chaotic as the scene they had created.

The first stranger had disappeared in the mass of churning bodies, but moments later, another bauble exploded on the pagoda, forcing the emissary and his guards to evacuate it. The crowd began to ebb away from the stage and so he stepped up onto it as the flames began to burn out, the other boy from the rooftop joining him.

“Good people! Don’t believe anything that witch from the West tries to tell you!” The first stranger shouted from his place upon the pagoda. “Her kind knows nothing but lies and deceit! Do not fall victim to their stories of how the west will share with us their riches and prosperity! They are the empty promises of a deceiver!”

The boy with the instrument strummed wildly at it once again, just as the other threw another of his baubles toward the retreating convoy. The emissary yelped and ducked behind his guards so they could lead him away from the madness.

“May you always remember that all kingdoms will not fall so easily to your kind!” The man snarled, and as the crowd dispersed, Jackson finally got a good look at him.

He was no taller than Mark, but thinner… his form lean if not a bit lanky. He was clearly a foreigner; his features were different than what Jackson was used to seeing here on the eastern mainland. He had sharp eyes, with a square-cut chin, a wide, rounded nose and full lips that curled around a naturally cocky grin. His hair was dark, but when the light hit it, there was a sheen of red to it. Jackson had only seen it on rare occasion, but he was aware of the ink called ‘henna’, which people of the south were known to use on their skin and hair. He wondered if that was where the man was from.

“You may want to work on your hiding skills, your highness.” The man said, looking Jackson right in the eyes.

The prince startled, but approached with Mark in tow. “Those are bold words coming from someone who just lit the village square on fire.”

The man shrugged, giving an agreeing look. “That’s fair. But that’s just my style. I’m an alchemist, after all.”

“What was that stuff, anyway?” Jackson asked, eyes tracking over where there was nothing left of the flames but scorch marks on the wood.

“They call it fire potion. It’s rather fun.” He replied with a wink.

“And you? What are you called?” Mark chimed in.

“Oh, I’m from the southern islands and my name is apparently unpronounceable to those outside our language. So, everyone here on the mainland calls me BamBam.”

Mark snorted. A man called ‘BamBam’ who enjoyed explosions. This day could not get any stranger.

Jackson, however, seemed unfazed. “Unpronounceable? You can try me.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to say so. Your people simply can’t get their tongues around it.” BamBam retorted.

“Trust me, even I have trouble wrapping mine around it, and I have quite the silver tongue.” The other boy said, running the tip of it along his teeth with a suggestive leer and a wink. “I’m Yugyeom, by the way. I’m from the north… where our names are a little less exotic.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow at him, but couldn’t formulate a response before Mark spoke up.

“BamBam it is, then.” He crossed his arms, eyeing the man critically. “So tell me, BamBam, what has this ‘western witch’ done to draw your ire?”

“It wasn’t her specifically. Bam just hates them all.” Yugyeom answered with a shrug.

“Had you ever visited the southern islands, there would be no need to explain.” BamBam muttered. “Western sailors opened up trade with the West, but it also brought so much more. They came by the hundreds, their ships filled to the brim with these foreigners wanting to experience the _exotic appeal_ of our islands. And with them, they brought their filth and their illnesses which our healers did not know how to treat. They brought their best, who sought to bargain for the most beautiful of our land, and they brought their worst, who built their colonies and ravaged it. My once prosperous home is now in ruins.”

“My… condolences.” Jackson murmured. It pained him that he was not in a position to offer to do more than give worthless commiseration. Had his own kingdom not been wrenched from his very hands by a woman of the west, he could have promised to do more. If he won it back, he swore to himself that he would.

“That’s why I give them hell here on the mainland.” BamBam added, his tone lighter once more. “I can’t stand to be back home, but more than that… I can’t sit back and watch while it happens to the rest of the East. And besides… the officials aren’t usually against it, here. We tend to get off easy.”

He tossed his head to the officer who was approaching them, then… the same one who had spotted Mark and Jackson in the crowd. The stranger rolled his eyes, trying to stifle an amused smirk. “He isn’t incorrect, but he still shouldn’t say it.”

“You… you don’t support the West either?” Jackson asked, sounding a little overwhelmed.

“Decidedly not.” He responded in a flat tone. “Though, admittedly, I’m from the North, where their influence has not quite reached. But I have witnessed their deeds here in the East and I find myself fearing the worst for my people as well. When I saw that you were clearly not in distress at the hands of your guard, I knew that the emissary had to be spewing propaganda.”

“Ooh, fellow northerner.” Yugyeom ran his tongue over his teeth again, saying something in the northern language that Jackson recognized as a greeting, though his tone had been nothing short of suggestive as he gazed at him as though he intended to devour him. He wondered if this boy had even seen enough winters to look at anyone like that.

The man coughed uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at the boy. “I’m Jinyoung. I’ve been an officer in this county for some years now.”

“Well met, Jinyoung. Thank you for not jumping to conclusions.” Mark said, stepping forward to offer a hand in greeting, only to have his body betray him, causing him to sway a bit. Jackson threw an arm out just in time to brace him.

“Is he all right?” Yugyeom asked in a tone between morbid curiosity and apathy.

“Mark was hit by an assassin’s arrow just yesterday… he’s lucky it didn’t kill him, but he’s supposed to be resting.” Jackson said, worry bleeding into his tone as he looked him over.

“An assassin? Of the Order? But your guard is of the Order, is he not?” Jinyoung asked, motioning to the man’s distinctive white raiment.

“The Order has betrayed the East and taken up arms against us in the name of the West.” Jackson explained bitterly. “Their first mission is to eliminate me so that my stepmother can remain on my throne, unopposed.”

“If that is the will of the Order, then…” Jinyoung’s eyes tracked over to Mark. He had regained his footing, but he hadn’t had the will to pull away from his prince, remaining leaned against him for balance.

“I defected. I have no intention of killing my charge… and they will have to go through me to get to him.”

Yugyeom gave him a dubious look. “That seems to be working out for you so far.”

“I could kill you seven different ways without moving from this spot. Don’t underestimate an assassin trained by the Order.” Mark replied in a flat tone.

Yugyeom gave a small squeak under his breath and tucked himself against BamBam’s arm, eyeing the man warily.

“You have killers on your trail and your kingdom has been taken from you… what is your plan?” Jinyoung asked. “You… do have a plan?”

“We make for the Wen Kingdom at dawn.” Mark told them. “They are the Wang family’s greatest allies. I believe they can be persuaded to lend us their armies to help take back the palace.”

BamBam clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “I’m in!”

Jackson blinked. “What?”

“I said I’m in! I left my home to stop things like this from happening on the mainland like it did in the southern islands. You have my firepower.”

“I’m in, too.” Yugyeom piped up, tossing a thumb at BamBam. “Where he goes, I go.”

Mark’s expression didn’t change, watching them both. “We hardly have the means to acquire supplies for ourselves… this will be a long, dangerous journey.”

“I can help with the supplies.” Jinyoung spoke up. “I can get you anything you need… a caravan, horses, rations. The station acquires all sorts of things during investigations, we hardly know what to do with it all. It won’t even be missed.”

“That would… be incredibly helpful.” Jackson murmured, humbled. “Thank you.”

“We will stay at the local inn for the night, though we will still need to be on guard… I have no way to know if there are more assassins with knowledge of our whereabouts.” Mark said.

“How many did they send initially?” Jinyoung asked.

“We were pursued by a half-dozen from the stronghold but I eliminated several before they could even make chase. One managed to shoot me, but I killed the remaining three in the night. We haven’t seen any more since.” Mark explained.

Jinyoung nodded. “I will help you keep guard tonight, in case more appear. You’re clearly in no condition.”

Mark huffed. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll need some time to prepare things for your departure.” Jinyoung said, pointedly ignoring him. “I will go and take care of things at the station, then meet you at the inn. Yugyeom or BamBam should take the first watch.”

“I can still stand watch.” Mark grumbled, sounding wholly offended.

“No… you sleep through the night. The healer said you needed bedrest. Far more of it than you’ve gotten.” Jackson countered.

“Yug and I will take watch together. He’s bound to get bored and nod off if he’s by himself.” BamBam piped up.

Yugyeom huffed, offended, but he couldn’t argue, since he knew the other was right. He opted instead to simply pout at him.

“It’s settled then. I should return in a few hours. Can you look after them until then?” Jinyoung asked.

BamBam and Yugyeom nodded, the latter speaking. “Sure, should be no problem at all! But, uh… just one question. What if one of the assassins comes?”

“Wake me.” Mark said, voice stern.

“I can hold them off, I’ve got fire potion for days.” BamBam insisted, waving him off.

“You’ll burn the whole inn down.” Jackson chided.

“Wake. Me.” Mark repeated, harsher this time. “Do not attempt to fight them. Any of you. Even you, Jinyoung.”

He scoffed in response. “No matter how skilled your Order, I am one of the top officers in the county. I’m sure I could best them, one-on-one. You said yourself you took down three with an arrow wound in your shoulder.”

“It was night and _I_ ambushed _them_.” Mark explained. “Try to refrain from being a hero. If one of them comes, wake me.”

Jinyoung grimaced, but nodded his assent. He felt the need to prove himself, however… and if they _were_ visited by a member of the Order, he had every intention of showing just how capable he was.

***

The inn was just down the street, the largest building in the village save the town hall, which also housed the police headquarters. It was run by a single mother of two young girls, a kind woman who informed them they would be the night’s only guests. She took their money and didn’t ask questions, just smiled sweetly and asked if they wanted anything from the bar before she closed up.

Jackson and Mark settled in, taking the only upstairs room without a window. It was safer, of course, for obvious reasons, but despite the added safety measure, Mark did not willingly find sleep. The room was cramped, featuring two small beds separated by a tiny nightstand with a single lantern upon it. It flickered dimly, left on the lowest setting as to not allow the room to be cast into total darkness.

Jackson found himself glancing over to the other bed, grimacing critically at his guard, whose open eyes he could see shining in the flickering flame.

“You have to rest. You know that.”

The words hadn’t been frustrated, or even an order. They were murmured like a plea, desperate and pained. Mark sighed.

“I know. I am no good to you like this. I can’t protect you if I don’t allow myself to heal. But… if the Order does come… none of them will stand a chance. I’m the only one who could—”

“Mark.” Jackson whispered, cutting him off. “We have to trust that none will come… and if they do, we have to trust that the others will handle it. Now please, rest.”

Mark did, but he did not find it easily, though he found comfort in the steady cadence of his prince’s breathing, so close by as he, too, slumbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yeah this is getting broken into 6-7 chapters because this chapter got so long that I had to move Jaebum’s entrance to Chapter 4 and I don’t feel right having the whole crew together for less than two chapters. I’ll aim for 6 + an epilogue like I’m doing for From Zero to Sixty.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had maybe a third of this written because I stole it from Chapter 3.

The night hours passed slow and silent, making way to the early morning. Mark and Jackson slept, undisturbed, for several of them. Outside in the hallway, BamBam and Yugyeom passed the time playing cards at a little table in the alcove of a balcony just above the bar. The inn was quiet… they were the only patrons, and the innkeeper and her family had gone to sleep some time before. It was nearly four hours past midnight when Jinyoung let himself in, careful not to jostle the bell above the door too loudly. BamBam and Yugyeom both jolted up, but relaxed upon seeing just who was paying them a visit.

“Sorry, that took longer than I expected.” Jinyoung whispered, traversing the stairs as quietly as possible.

“Thank the gods, you’ve rescued me from yet another losing streak.” Yugyeom proclaimed, standing and tossing down his cards. “I swear, he cheats.”

“I do not, I’m just good.” BamBam retorted, scooping up his winnings (a handful of coins, a few weiqi pieces and a jade trinket of some kind) with a gleeful smirk.

“All’s quiet?” Jinyoung asked, glancing toward the door he knew the prince and his guard were behind.

“Not a peep.” Yugyeom confirmed, stretching. “Bammie and I actually took bets on whether they’d fuck… honestly my money’s on they’re already together but with Mark’s injury, Jackson’s being kind of a mother hen, so—”

“Absolutely none of our business.” Jinyoung interrupted him, chiding. “Not all of us like to overshare.”

“Is it oversharing or are you all just overly-modest?” Yugyeom countered, eyebrow raised.

“Anyway, we should get some sleep. Actual sleep, Yug. Long journey and all that.” BamBam spoke up, standing and grabbing Yugyeom by the arm to lead him to their room further down the hall. The other made a face, suggestive and irritated all in one. “Don’t pout at me. You agreed to this.”

“Yeah, because you’re going.” Yugyeom retorted, muttering under his breath, “The things I do for a good lay.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, ready to plop down in the chair BamBam had just been using, when something caught his eye down the hall opposite them.

There stood a figure clad in white linen and brown leather, a hood shrouding his face.

Jinyoung kicked the chair back, unsheathing his sword. The lattice window behind the assassin was closed. How had he gotten in, unheard, unseen, _unnoticed_ until then? A shiver of dread rolled down his spine, and he began to wonder if Mark hadn’t been so wrong to warn him not to fight a member of the Order on his own.

“You two.” Jinyoung said, too evenly, calling their attention.

When they turned and spotted the stranger, they were instantly on edge, BamBam pulling Yugyeom behind him, his hand going to the baubles at his belt.

“Wake the others, then evacuate the inn.” Jinyoung ordered, and it took a dazed Yugyeom several seconds to process what he’d said, eventually nodding and grabbing BamBam in order to pull him down the hall.

The assassin seemed to be staring past Jinyoung, over his shoulder, to where Yugyeom was knocking desperately on one of the other rooms’ doors, before BamBam rolled his eyes and shoved his way in, shouting a warning.

Jinyoung moved to block his view, dao gleaming in his hand. “Your fight is with me.”

“It isn’t.” The assassin muttered, unsheathing his fighting knife. “But, if it must be.”

Jinyoung’s eyes hadn’t left the man… so the fact that he felt he had barely any warning when the assassin rushed him was impressive. The assailant had closed the distance between them so quickly that he’d hardly pulled his dao up in time to block. The assassin’s counter-parry sent him staggering back, and it was a struggle to block the successive strikes which followed.

There was a commotion behind him, but his focus had narrowed down entirely to the man in front of him. He heard little more than hollow echoes around him, every sense honed in on his enemy. He thought he saw the assassin grimace; just a slight curl of the upper lip in something like irritation, eyes narrowing. The next strike was deliberate and powerful, causing him to have to block with both hands on the hilt of his dao.

Jinyoung’s eyes widened when a second blade broke past his guard, almost too fast for him to see, let alone dodge. He couldn’t possibly block it, his dao already locked with the assassin’s knife—but then, he felt another presence press against him on the right, putting themselves between the incoming strike and his vulnerable side. He turned just in time to see Mark push in next to him, grabbing the assailant’s wrist just as the tip of that hidden blade grazed past his leather armor through the laces. Mark shouldered him bodily out of the way, Jinyoung hitting the wall of the narrow hallway with his dao still in hand, shaking in his grip.

In all his years working in service to the government, while he had not been a stranger to peril, he had never once come so close to death.

Years of training had seen him become one of the most respected officers on the force. Pure skill had seen him seldom defeated, even in the sparring ring. Dedication had allowed him to master many weapon styles and several types of hand-to-hand combat. And yet, this unknown man had come along and nearly ended his life as though it had meant _nothing_.

“Get the prince out of here.” Mark’s order cut across the hall, bringing Jinyoung’s attention back to the present. He turned to see Jackson standing there like a spooked animal, Yugyeom and BamBam already having left him to evacuate the inn. He grabbed Jackson by the shoulder, hauling him away.

“We aren’t leaving you to fight him alone!” He shouted, trying to claw his way out of Jinyoung’s grip.

The assassin forced his way out of Mark’s grasp, twisting from his hold and pivoting, reaching for the holster at his belt. His hand flashed out past Mark’s shoulder, but he noticed it just in time and struck the assailant’s wrist, the dagger he’d thrown clattering to the wooden floor at Jackson and Jinyoung’s feet.

“Go!” Mark snarled, brokering no argument this time. He turned his hand to grab at the wrist he’d just deflected, using the newfound leverage to slam the assassin against the wall. He flicked out the hidden blade on his left arm, no hesitation as he struck, attempting to plunge it into their attacker’s neck. But it stopped just shy of his throat, the enemy’s free hand having come up to snag Mark’s wrist before he could strike the fatal blow. Both of their arms shook with the effort of their clash for dominance, but it was Mark’s elbow which buckled first, causing him to have to jump back when the assassin tried to take advantage of his vulnerability with a swipe from his fighting knife.

Mark’s back hit the wall and the enemy dove toward his retreating target, making a lunge for Jackson. Mark, however, all but growled as he launched off the wall and grappled him to the ground, not allowing him to get any closer to his charge.

Jinyoung dragged Jackson down the hall and toward the stairs, the prince not putting up as much of a fight now out, either out of sheer concern for his own safety or possibly even shock. The innkeeper and her family had clearly just awoken, Yugyeom leading her outside while BamBam wrapped the children in their blankets and ushered them away as well. Jackson kept stealing glances toward the stairs, even as he was forced out the door and into the village streets. They hadn’t been standing there for a full minute before they heard a crash coming from the side of the building.

“Stay with them!” Jinyoung hissed to BamBam and Yugyeom with a motion toward the innkeeper’s family, rushing toward the noise. Jackson followed, though he wasn’t certain he’d been meant to.

There was a small alley between the inn and the building next to it, a structure not quite as tall but similar in height. Slats of wood lay strewn upon the ground, another falling atop them just as the two men arrived in the mouth of the alley. Above them, Mark was still fighting with the other assassin inside the inn, having shoved him through the window on the second floor in their scuffle. They were struggling to gain control over the situation, with Mark pushing the assailant halfway out the window until he was prostrated uncomfortably across the shattered pane. The enemy tried to use his leverage to pull Mark through the open window, and he was successful… what he did not count on was Mark taking control of that leverage and using it to kick the other out from under him, causing him to flip out the window while Mark himself bounded across the alley, snagging the edge of the roof of the opposite building. The other assassin, too, managed to grab hold of the window pane just in time to prevent himself from tumbling to the alley below.

Mark didn’t allow either of them much time to recover; he bounded for the other, brandishing naught but his hidden blade. He soared across the space between the two buildings like a bird of prey, the tails of his tunic spreading out like wings in the moonlight. Jackson thought it was a strangely majestic sight, despite the horror of it.

The assailant slashed at Mark to stave off the assault, but his judgement had been off; only the tip of his blade raked almost harmlessly across the thick leather armor at Mark’s chest, allowing him to land next to him and snag the window pane with his free arm. He didn’t even flinch as the shattered wood raked across his arm, too focused on the task at hand. He moved to strike, but the enemy managed to block him, trying to use his knee to shove the other away, knock him off balance… anything. Mark let go of the window and grabbed the assassin, throwing all his weight into wrenching him away from the windowsill. Splintered wood cut into the flesh of his enemy’s palm and he snarled, letting go. They tumbled through the air for merely a second, but it was long enough for Mark to pivot his weight until he had the advantage. They landed with a sickening thud on top of the broken slats, Mark perched upon their attacker’s chest as though to drive him into the dirt, his blade having sunk into the other’s neck at the moment of impact.

The assassin gargled, choking on his own blood. Mark stood and wiped off his blade, staggering off of the body. Jackson broke past Jinyoung and rushed forward, steadying him with a hand on his chest and one around his shoulders. One of his sleeves was ripped, blood soaked through where the wood had raked through his skin. There was also a line of blood trailing down the right tail of his tunic, dribbling from the shallow stab wound at his side.

“You should be far from here.” Mark murmured, tossing an accusatory glance toward Jinyoung.

“You said to go. You didn’t say how far.” Jackson shot back. “Mark, you’re hurt. You need to see Youngjae.”

Mark shook his head. “The hour is late, we shouldn’t—”

“He said we should come to him if we had need of his help.” Jackson insisted.

Mark sighed, but he was in no condition to protest… it should have disgusted him just how easily the other was able to lead him out of that alley and back out into the street. It was only a comfort to know that his life, at least, was in his prince’s hands.

 

Youngjae was already awake… the commotion had apparently alerted the village guards, and their shouting had awoken him. They were taking statements from the innkeeper, now, Yugyeom and BamBam giving their side of things as well while Jinyoung and Jackson saw to Mark’s treatment.

Youngjae tutted and shook his head as he cleansed the cuts, ensuring the splinters had all been removed before he bandaged them. The stab at his side had been shallow, but the healer did not miss the way Jinyoung leveled a hard stare at the now-bandaged flesh, the blow which had been meant for him.

“Are you always this reckless when you’re still healing? Do you understand the meaning of bedrest?”

“I cannot take a leave of absence from my duties.” Mark replied in a flat tone. “Even for my own health.”

Youngjae sighed, setting his tools aside. “You’ll just keep doing this to yourself, hm? It’s a long journey to the Wen Kingdom. Think that skilled healers are in good supply on the roads?”

“None so skilled as you, I’m sure.” Mark teased in a dry voice, mouth quirking up in what might have been a smirk.

“You’re right about that.” Youngjae mumbled, wrapping the last bandage.

“It’s impossible for him to take things easily so long as Jackson is a target.” Jinyoung said, his tone hard. “I didn’t want to believe that those assassins would be far beyond my ability to handle, but—“

“Jackson, hm? That explains a fair bit.” Youngjae hummed, looking him over. “So you’re that prince the emissary mentioned…. not some well-off traveler named ‘Gaa-ji’.”

Jackson cringed, closing his eyes. “Y-yeah…”

Jinyoung’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know he wasn’t aware of—“

“No, it’s… it’s my fault, in all the commotion, I didn’t tell you.” Jackson replied.

“It’s all right, I’m not going to turn you in or something.” Youngjae said dismissively. “It’s incredibly obvious that Mark didn’t kidnap you, which means what that emissary was saying was just as false as that alchemist claimed.”

Mark nodded. “His stepmother seeks to usurp his throne, and the Order had sided with the West with the intent to help her do just that. Nothing of what they said was true.”

“But you _are_ journeying to the Wen Kingdom.” Youngjae surmised.

“Yes.” Jackson confirmed. “With the hope that they can help me win my kingdom back. The alchemist and his bard friend will be joining us, and Jinyoung has graciously helped us with supplies.”

“And you expect some resistance along the way, I imagine?” Youngjae asked. “More of these assassins?”

Mark nodded. “The Order will keep sending them until we are dead.”

“Well… there’s no two ways about it, then. I’ll just have to go with you.” Youngjae said, as though it were the simplest decision he’d made that day.

Jackson balked, setting down the jar he’d been idly fiddling with across the room. “What? But… it’s dangerous. We couldn’t possibly—”

“I will be joining you as well.” Jinyoung spoke up then, voice hard.

Jackson reeled. “What? You too?”

“Your guard… saved my life.” Jinyoung explained, his eyes never leaving Mark’s. The assassin watched him with no visible reaction, but he was clearly listening intently. “Not only is that a debt I intend to repay, but… I can’t possibly rest until I see the Order dealt with. Men like that are too dangerous to be left unchecked in the hands of the West.”

Youngjae smirked. “See! How dangerous could it be? Your company includes the county’s finest officer, a rogue alchemist and a skilled assassin of the Order. And it’s quite apparent that you’re all too reckless to be left with no one to look after your wounds.”

“That’s a valid point.” Jackson mumbled, crossing the room to nudge Mark’s uninjured shoulder. The guard just pressed his lips together, squinting.

“And besides…” Youngjae continued, staring off into the middle-distance in a wistful sort of way. “I’ve always… dreamed of getting out of this place. You know, traveling. And your cause is one I support.”

Mark took a breath, an argument on the tip of his tongue… but Jackson’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. His prince nodded, just once, and he sighed. “Pack only what you need. We leave at dawn.”

“You shouldn’t be going anywhere in your condition.” Youngjae quipped. “Which is exactly why you need me. But, dawn it is.”

Mark’s jaw clenched as he bit back a retort. He didn’t like the idea of having so many people along… people who were not guards sworn to protect his prince; people who were not pledged to die for him. It was not for lack of trust, as it was clear that each of these men had their own reasons for standing behind their cause… but he could not expect any one of them to lay down their life if it meant Jackson’s safety. Any one of the palace guards who had accompanied them to the Order stronghold, the very guards who now lay slain there, knew that their sole purpose was to protect their prince, or to die trying. They had died unfairly; betrayed, unknowing of the danger which had surrounded them. But they had fulfilled their duty. Mark could not expect the same of these men, these strangers.

What struck him more than anything was that he found he did not wish them to make such an oath. No… Mark instead looked upon these men, innocent bystanders swept up in a plot unbelonging to them, yet so eager to help, and wondered if he would not lay his life on the line for any one of them, too.

***

Jinyoung had been instrumental in securing them the means to make their journey. He helped himself to one of the station’s commandeered caravans and several horses, so that each of them had one to ride in addition to the two which would pull the cart. Youngjae had taken up most of the room with his medicinal supplies, the rest going toward food rations and BamBam’s own acquisitions. Yugyeom whined about how much discomfort being in a saddle caused him, so he remained safely tucked inside the wagon as they set off. It had room for two comfortably and four cramped, but everyone else insisted on riding, even Jackson. He stuck close to Mark, stealing glances at him as they rode, as though searching his face for any indication of pain or discomfort. He didn’t find it; just a soft, reassuring grin when Mark noticed him, and even though it didn’t entirely meet his eyes, it still warmed Jackson’s chest in a way he couldn’t explain.

They avoided camping too close to any towns, for the time being. They had sufficient rations, and it was too much of a risk that they would be recognized… so instead, on the first night, they settled near a stream just outside a bamboo grove. The soft, hollow knocking of the shoots as they swayed in the wind was like a soothing drumbeat, the gentle rustling of leaves and chirping of the birds and insects a mellow accompaniment.

Yugyeom whined about having first watch, whined about not being allowed to sleep in the caravan, whined about just about everything, really, until a stern look from Jinyoung and a reminder from Youngjae that Mark was still recovering effectively silenced him. BamBam took first watch with him, keeping him occupied by showing him how to make wind instruments from the smaller bamboo shoots. The boy seemed fascinated by it, and it kept his attention for the entire watch.

Jinyoung took the next watch, alone. He and Youngjae had agreed that Mark would not take watch until he had been allowed some time to recover, and so long as no one came for them, he would be left to sleep. Youngjae took the final watch with Jackson, because Youngjae was not in any way skilled in combat, and the party agreed that they felt more comfortable if Jackson did not take watch alone, since he was the primary target of the assassins being sent after them. They spent the time sharing stories, Jackson of palace life and Youngjae of his journey studying medicine. He helped Jackson learn to identify certain herbs and their properties, and even what to add to tea recipes for a small boost. They talked until dawn, when the others finally rose.

The following day was hotter than the last, unusual for the season…and while Mark had woken feeling oddly refreshed, he was back to being run-down and sluggish come the afternoon. He eventually retreated to the caravan, the riding taking its toll. The heat was even bothering the horses so badly that they stopped several hours before sunset to make camp, feeling it was too much of a risk to continue.

The party seemed to get along, at least when Yugyeom wasn’t intentionally trying to be disruptive. BamBam, despite being equally disruptive in nature, seemed to understand there was a time and place for everything. He knew just when to steer Yugyeom off into some distraction to keep him from irritating the others, all while appearing unfettered. Jinyoung was quiet and pensive… he didn’t talk much for the first and second day, until Youngjae mentioned his accent and they discovered they were both from the North, from the place they called the land of morning calm. They conversed a little in their native tongue, the healer giggling self-consciously when he mixed up a word here or there. It had been so long since he’d spoken it that it felt almost foreign to him, as ironic as that was.

As the sun sank, the company found a place to camp near a sprawling lake teeming with lilies. Yugyeom was more than delighted, immediately deciding to go for a swim. BamBam just rolled his eyes fondly and indulged him, the two playing hide and seek in the water under the blooming plants. Youngjae watched them for a long while, fond of their innocence. When he moved on back to the camp, however, the boys stole away to a small rocky alcove beyond the lilies to enjoy the solitude and each others’ company, and Mark rolled his eyes at the image of that innocence lost.

Once darkness fell, Jinyoung lit a fire, cooking up some fish they’d managed to net from the lake. It was nice to eat something other than fruit and grains, and everyone had inhaled their meals within minutes, conversing casually around the crackling flames. Once everyone had finished, Mark collected all of the scraps and stakes, gathering them up as he made his way around the fire before moving to head for the woods nearby.

“What are you doing?” Jinyoung asked, brow furrowed.

“Disposing of these far from camp. Do you want any number of wild beasts to come sniffing in the night?” Mark replied.

Yugyeom blinked. “How do you even… think about that kind of stuff? That wouldn’t even cross my mind.”

BamBam smirked. “Nothing much crosses your mind beyond a good—“

“Bam.” Youngjae hissed. “Honestly.”

“It’s my job to think about everything. It’s what’s going to prevent all of you from getting killed.” Mark murmured as he walked past the group, taking the scraps with him.

Yugyeom let out a low whistle once the assassin was out of earshot, making a face. “So is he always like that?”

“Like what?” Jackson asked, cocking his head.

“Taking on everyone’s burdens like they’re his own?” Yugyeom clarified, picking food from between his teeth.

Jackson let out a wistful sort of huff, the barest of smiles on his face. “He’d take on every one of my burdens if he could… whether the pain of grief or the responsibility of rule. That has always been his way, yes.”

Yugyeom gave BamBam a _Look_ , and they seemed to share an entire silent conversation between themselves before Mark returned, hands empty.

“All’s quiet on the perimeter. If someone does come, though, I recommend you seek refuge in the water. Most members of the Order, and the desert people in general, are terrible swimmers. Little known weakness.” Mark told them.

Jinyoung gave him a curious look. “Wouldn’t that be one of your weaknesses, then?”

Mark shook his head. “Jackson taught me to swim.”

BamBam and Yugyeom shared another look, but Jackson stared at Mark in confusion. “No I didn’t.”

“You did. I learned from necessity during your summer seasonal pastimes. You did not give me lessons, but I learned from you.” Mark clarified.

“Oh.” Jackson murmured, brow furrowed as he thought back to those times. “I… never would have guessed you didn’t know how to swim. You took to it naturally.”

“I’m a fast learner.” Mark told him, rolling his injured shoulder with a soft grunt. “Have we discussed watch?”

“Yes, and you’re not taking one.” Youngjae said immediately. “Same rotation as last night until you are more fully healed.”

Mark opened his mouth to argue, but Jackson shot him a look, and his jaw clicked shut automatically. After a moment, he sighed. “Fine. I suppose I’ll get my rest in now, then.”

“You do that.” Youngjae intoned in the same way one might toward a child, and it earned him a glare from Mark as he passed.

“You… not gonna join him, your highness?” Yugyeom asked, his inflection a little too suggestive.

The implication flew right over Jackson’s head, however; he was too preoccupied watching his guard, making sure he had safely made his way into the nearby wagon. “Hm? Oh, I will in a bit. I’m not tired just yet.”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes. “Well I’m going to grab something from the caravan before he falls asleep, or else I might end up with a blade in my neck if I wake him.”

BamBam shook his head. “Make it quick.”

The younger boy shot up, heading for the caravan. He had nothing to retrieve, however… he was just making an excuse. When he peeled open the door of the wagon, he saw that Mark had settled against some of the bags of rice grains, using them as a makeshift pillow. There was a single lantern left burning low in the far corner, hanging on a metal ring. It cast the man in shadow, giving him an eerie, dangerous sort of air. Mark glanced at the other from under his hood, eyes narrowed.

“Can I help you, Yugyeom?”

“Yeah, you can quit hogging the caravan all the time. What if Bammie and I wanted some privacy, hm?” Yugyeom whined as he climbed inside, closing the door behind him. “I could use a good lay… it’s been too long.”

Mark stared at him, unperturbed. “I have a feeling that you will survive somehow. Your rendezvous in the lake earlier should tide you over.”

Yugyeom squinted at him, crossing his arms petulantly. “You noticed that, and you’re really going to act like you're not the least bit shocked by it?”

“You can’t shock someone who isn’t surprised by anything.” Mark replied, sounding unbothered.

“You’re saying there isn’t _anything_ I could do that would surprise you?” Yugyeom asked, voice pitching lower as he crawled up the length of Mark’s legs, settling too-close in front of him, so close that when he spoke again, his breath fanned over the other’s lips. “Anything?”

Yugyeom’s right hand had begun sliding up Mark’s thigh, slipping under the tails of his tunic and further still, until the assassin snatched it by the wrist, wrenching it back and holding it between them.

“No.” He said in a tone that Yugyeom found to be infuriatingly calm. He huffed and sat back on his haunches above Mark’s knees.

“You can claim to be infallible, but I have a feeling you’re just saving it for someone else.” Yugyeom quipped.

“You mistake my loyalty for infatuation.” Mark told him.

“I think you’re the one mistaking some pretty intense love for a sense of duty, but sure, think what you want.” Yugyeom shrugged.

The caravan door opened, revealing BamBam, who gave Yugyeom a fond but admonishing look.

“I was wondering what was taking you so long. I thought you were eyeing Officer Tall-and-Handsome, Yug… what happened?”

He didn’t sound perturbed in the least, which made Mark quirk a brow. Obviously these two had a dynamic far beyond the expected or typical.

“Nothing, just testing a theory.” Yugyeom told him, winking. “Though I definitely wouldn’t have minded being wrong, and going further with our stoic assassin here. You know, for science.”

“Right, for science.” BamBam replied, snorting a laugh and rolling his eyes. He grabbed a plum from the basket next to them just as Yugyeom rolled off of Mark and out the door.

“Maybe I _will_ go see what Officer Handsome is up to, though.” He said wistfully, jumping to the ground.

“Do what you will with him, but refrain from coming onto me again, Yugyeom.” Mark added wearily.

“You didn’t ask nicely.” Yugyeom chided.

“And I won’t.” Mark returned, his tone dark as he threw his hood over his face and leaned against his makeshift pillows once more.

BamBam and Yugyeom shared a look, but didn’t say anything further before taking their leave of the caravan.

It hadn’t been an hour when he heard the caravan floor creak, and he was just on the fringes of unconsciousness when a hand gripped his thigh, just above the knee. He snatched the offending wrist without looking, wrenching it away and sitting up.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough in my disinterest, Yugy—oh.” Mark blinked up in confusion when he tossed his hood back and it was not the bard’s eyes his own met, but his prince’s. 

Mark was trained to identify a person by sound and scent before sight, so that he had not recognized Jackson spoke to just how out of sorts he felt. Even under the caravan’s scent of sword-oil, too-ripe fruit and the pungent, musty tang of aged wood, he shouldn’t have ever mistaken him for anyone else.

“Highness. My apologies, I thought…”

“Disinterest, hm? Just what did Yugyeom do to get you so riled up?” Jackson asked with a teasing smirk, ignoring his apology as though he had no need of it.

“It’s nothing. He is young and bold.” Mark replied in a flat tone.

“Oh.” Jackson blinked owlishly, realization dawning. “Oh! But I thought… he and BamBam…”

“BamBam seemed to have no objections.” Mark replied.

“But… _you_ did.” It was more a question than a statement… even Jackson was unclear on exactly what he’d meant by it.

“Of course I did. He’s a boy.” Mark scoffed. “They’re both boys. Let them do what they will, but I wouldn’t be a part of it.”

Jackson regarded him for a moment, curious. “Is their age your… only qualm?”

Mark gave him a look. “No. While I don’t dislike them, per se, I would not seek more intimate company with them either.”

“Not your type.” Another statement-query, more subtle this time.

“I find them to be loud and lacking discipline, so no.” Mark answered.

“I suppose I just… assumed the Order had rules against… that kind of thing.” Jackson murmured.

“They do. Emotional attachment is strictly forbidden, for obvious reasons. Rules on physical intimacy are a bit more lax. They would have to be imbeciles to expect they could enforce celibacy, but they strongly encouraged us not to produce offspring.” Mark explained. “However… I’m not a member of the Order anymore, so it’s hardly relevant.”

“Oh, planning on creating some offspring, then?” Jackson teased.

Mark snorted. “No, I find myself in charge of plenty of children without creating a new one.”

Jackson gave an offended huff, hitting him in the arm. He almost didn’t catch the wince Mark so dutifully tried to hide behind a laugh, but he instantly felt guilty, laying a gentle hand over the area, where bandages lay just beneath the linen of his tunic.

“I’m sorry! That really was childish of me. I suppose you were right about that after all.”

“It’s nothing, Highness. Do not guilt yourself.” Mark’s jaw clenched as he looked away, thoughtful. “Truth be told, you have had to face many trials which I would not expect even the oldest and wisest of kings to bear with grace. You are truly capable beyond your years.”

Jackson let out a soft breath, feeling for all the world like the air had been sucked from his very lungs. But he just shook his head, smiling. “I’m… not sure how true that is, but… thank you.”

They sat there in companionable silence for several moments, before Jackson realized he had been the one encroaching on Mark’s sleep without explanation. He let go of his guard’s arm, running a hand through his own hair and laughing.

“I’m sorry, I came in here to ask if I could join you in rest, not deprive you of it. And not just to be sure you were actually resting.”

“Hm, that certainly sounds like something someone who was checking in to ensure I was resting would say.” Mark teased, smirking.

Jackson made a face. “I… choose not to implicate myself further by refusing to respond.”

“Well that certainly allays suspicion.” Mark replied, too-serious. “But I’ll give you points for diplomacy. Join me if you will, and be my keeper if you must. You’ll have to tell me what it’s like being on the other side of that.”

“Hellishly frustrating. I’m reformed. I apologize for all the trouble I’ve ever given you.” Jackson said, only half joking as he settled next to his guard, at his uninjured left side. 

“Mm, you’ve never been all that bad.” Mark responded, pulling his hood back up over his eyes again as he got comfortable. “I’ve heard horror stories from other assassins. The sabotage, attempted escapes, pranks… I was truly fortunate.”

“Uh-huh, fortunate. Enough chatter, back to sleep.” Jackson chided.

“Yes, Highness.” Mark cooed in a tone that hovered between obedient and recalcitrant.

Mark slept, and slept well, and didn’t wake again until the dawn.

***

The following day brought kinder weather, and it felt as though the season had chosen to be merciful to the company. They remained just south of the mountains which separated the North from the Eastern mainland, traveling along the less-populated forest roads.The area was more or less abandoned… they passed one or two traveling merchants, or a local hunter on his way back from a day in the forest, but otherwise it was quiet. That was, until late in the afternoon when a lone traveler came across them on horseback. He passed them on his steed, only to double back and block the road several paces in front of them.

Jackson and Mark were both on horseback at the time, which meant they were in plain view. By the way the man was scrutinizing them, he’d recognized them from the wanted parchments. Jinyoung moved his horse forward to talk to him, perhaps concocting some lie, but the stranger spoke first. 

“Hold it right there.”

Mark instinctually pulled his horse in front of Jackson’s, hand going to his sword. He could see the man was well-armed, dressed for combat with light armor… enough to protect him while keeping him agile. He was clearly frequent companions with battle and strife.

“How can we help you, stranger?” Jinyoung called back, trying to remain calm and cordial.

“My name is Jaebum.” The man said. “I am a bounty hunter, but I’m sure you already surmised that much.”

“I’ve heard of you. You’re infamous.” Jinyoung replied.

“I prefer ‘renowned’, thank you.” The stranger bit back. “I am only here for those two. The rest of you have little value to me.”

He motioned to Mark and Jackson, and the prince and his guard were instantly on edge.

“The alchemist’s bounty is but a pittance, hardly worth my effort. Hand the prince over unharmed and I will make your death quick, assassin.” Jaebum continued.

“He is under my protection.” Mark intoned, low and deadly. “You will not take him.”

Jaebum scoffed. “Protection… that’s rich. Very well, if you won’t come quietly… have at you.”

He unsheathed his sword, a gleaming steel jian, and dismounted. Mark followed suit, arming himself with his longsword. He nudged his horse away, motioning for Jinyoung to take it. Jackson climbed off his own horse, but Jinyoung had dismounted, too, pulling the prince and both horses back toward the caravan.

“Should we… do something?” Yugyeom asked in a loud whisper, hiding behind his own steed.

“Mark shouldn’t be fighting in his condition.” Youngjae murmured worriedly.

“If he can’t take the guy, I will.” BamBam said, grabbing one of the baubles of fire potion at his belt.

Jinyoung looked back to the two, who were still squaring off, neither one having made a move.

Mark looked the bounty hunter over from head to toe, his fingers flexing over the hilt of his sword as Jaebum moved into stance. He had been studying fighting styles, several of them, he surmised, from a young age. He was left-handed. He’d sustained a serious injury to his right leg which had mostly managed to heal, but he still favored his left regardless. He was well-traveled, and his primary weapon was one native to the mainland East, one which favored speed over strength. Mark’s own sword style would easily overpower his if it came down to it.

That was, if Mark could will his body to cooperate. As it stood, when Jaebum lunged for him, he barely managed to jump back far enough to avoid it, knocking the man’s sword aside with his own. A lighter blade meant faster recovery time, however, and Jaebum easily pivoted his wrist, slashing for him this time. Mark twisted out of the way, bringing his sword up to block it once more. He staggered, nearly off-balance.

“We have to help him!” Jackson hissed, trying to run to his guard, but Jinyoung grabbed him, pulling him back.

“ _You_ aren’t going out there, you’ll get yourself killed.” Jinyoung chided. “BamBam.”

“On it.” The alchemist said, moving forward, rolling one of his baubles in his palm.

But right before their eyes, something happened… so quickly that they barely deciphered just what. Jaebum moved again, Mark managing to parry his first strike. What occurred next was a blur: Mark moved his sword in an arc, while at his opposite hand, his hidden blade flashed out, going in for a fatal strike. Jaebum seemed to bat away the sword with ease with his own, but in his other hand, a silvery chain shot out, wrapping around Mark’s left hand and wrenching it away, causing him to roll to the dirt. He barely righted himself in the time Jaebum had pivoted elegantly, his jian striking out toward Mark’s neck with no room for the assassin to dodge.

“ _Mark!_ ”

Jackson’s horrified call cut through the air. He wrenched out of Jinyoung’s grip, trying to lunge for his guard, put himself between Mark and that blade, though he could not have possibly crossed the distance quickly enough to do so. The bounty hunter hesitated, eyes flickering over toward the prince.

His sword fell just shy of a fatal blow, resting the flat of the blade against the vulnerable flesh of Mark’s neck.

“You call out for him.” Jaebum observed, eyes tracking from the prince to his guard and back again. “Why?”

Jackson’s breath hitched, relief and fear flooding him all at once. “Mark isn’t… he didn’t… I’m not…”

In his panic, words failed him. Jaebum appeared unconvinced.

Jinyoung stepped up, setting a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Listen, you’ve got it all wrong. The information being spread by those emissaries is false. The prince wasn’t kidnapped by his guard; the Order are the ones who betrayed the Wang family, the East itself… that is why Mark defected. Not for personal gain in the Wang family’s time of grief.”

A dismissal seemed to be on Jaebum’s tongue, but he paused, if only because he couldn’t think of many reasons an officer would lie about such, and the prince did, indeed, look for all the world as though he cared about the fate of his alleged kidnapper-guard.

“Is this true, Prince Jiaer?” Jaebum asked, turning to regard him, though his blade remained on Mark.

Jackson nodded erratically, swallowing his fear until he found his voice again. “Y-yes, my stepmother… she had my father killed and usurped the throne. She wanted me out of the way, and she charged the Order with my assassination, but to save face publically, she claimed my guard betrayed me.”

“But in truth, Mark betrayed the Order to protect Jackson.” Jinyoung added. He blinked, making a face. “Jackson is… what the prince likes to be called. It’s his name’s translation in—”

“In the common tongue, I’m aware.” Jaebum cut him off, glancing warily between the group of them. After a long moment, he sheathed his sword, reeling his chain dart back in as well and hooking it at his belt. “You’re telling me the Order parted with centuries of tradition and betrayed the East?”

Mark climbed to his feet, looking quite calm for someone who had been so near death. He grimaced, nodding in answer to the newcomer. “The Elder was swayed by the West’s promises of greater compensation. The Order should never be persuaded by something so trivial… but the Elder apparently disagrees.”

“It sounds as though this Elder may need to retire.” Jaebum muttered.

Mark inclined his head. “I agree.”

“So you’ve assembled this… what? Rebellion?” Jaebum asked.

“I owe Mark a debt.” Jinyoung said. “He saved my life.”

“And I saved Mark’s.” Youngjae piped up, chuckling. “As a healer, I couldn’t just let a patient go running off to get himself killed again.”

“You’re doing a fine job of that.” Jaebum quipped, deadpan. Youngjae’s eyes narrowed, but when the bounty hunter smirked in a teasing sort of way, he imagined that was his idea of a joke.

“Well _I’m_ along for the rebellion.” BamBam chimed in, hooking the bauble back to his belt now that he was no longer in need of it. “Anything to get back against those colonizing bastards.”

Yugyeom shrugged. “I’m just following the alchemist, the sex is too good to give up.”

Jinyoung let out a sigh of embarrassment, hanging his head in his hand while rubbing his temples. “Our apologies for him.”

Youngjae looked to BamBam, who appeared entirely unfettered. “And you just don’t even care when he talks like that?”

“I’m used to it.” He replied with a smirk and a shrug.

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s worse than me, he just isn’t comfortable with you yet.” Yugyeom said.

“For all our sakes, please remain uncomfortable.” Jinyoung begged, voice as strained as his patience.

“I’m in.” Jaebum said, hands on his hips.

Jackson blinked. “You’re… in…?”

“Yes, I’m in. On your little rebellion.” Jaebum clarified. “The Order has obviously lost their way… and I’m eager to test my skills against them.”

“You… what?” Mark balked. “I may make an easy target of an assassin, given my current condition, but Order-trained mercenaries aren’t to be trifled with lightly.”

“I am not trifling lightly. I have every bit of training they do, you do… and more.” Jaebum countered.

“That’s impossible. There are secrets, protected by the creed…” Mark argued.

“I may not know _every_ technique an Order assassin is taught… but I have trained under the greatest masters to best them regardless.” Jaebum said.

“You always go around picking fights with members of the Order?” Mark quipped.

“No, you were the first. I may resent their decision not to allow me to join them, but I respect their tenets. Well, I did. Before this… turn.” Jaebum grumbled.

Mark’s brow furrowed. “You attempted to join the Order?”

“As a child.” Jaebum confirmed. “I was turned away. Too old, they said… a boy of thirteen, already trained in all the prominent martial arts of the East.”

Mark frowned. “My condolences. I will not lie and say there is not prestige in becoming part of the Order, but… it does mean little to me now.”

“And you? How old were you when they took you in?” Jaebum asked.

“I was but four winters.” Mark told him. “Most commonly the Order does not take anyone beyond ten. Too much personal identity to train out by then.”

Jaebum snorted. “Given their recent shift in allegiance, I cannot say I regret it as much as I once did. But to prove I’ve surpassed them… that has been my goal since that day.”

“Well you sure surpassed Mark.” Yugyeom snarked with a laugh.

Jackson actually huffed, offended. “He’s injured! He nearly died less than a week ago. He is hardly at his peak performance.”

“Yes, please tell us all about your guard’s performance potential.” Yugyeom drawled suggestively.

Jinyoung gave him a look. “You are treading dangerous waters here, boy.”

“Mm, you gonna punish me, Officer?” Yugyeom goaded, biting his lip.

Jinyoung let out an undignified sound, turning red to his ears, but BamBam spoke before he could. “Gyeomie. Have mercy, they are men with weak hearts.”

That earned a scoff from most of the company, but Yugyeom just smiled and shrugged.

“The sun is getting low.” Mark commented, gazing off to the horizon. “We should look to make camp soon.”

“There are some temple ruins not far off, a little ways into the forest. It’s near a river, quite defensible. I’ve camped there before. I can take you to them.” Jaebum offered.

Mark looked to Jinyoung and Jackson, conferring with them silently. When they nodded, he did also. “Very well… lead the way.”

They climbed onto their horses, Jaebum taking the front. Mark rode nearest to him, if only to keep an eye out. He didn’t particularly distrust this newcomer, but he was just that—a newcomer—and he couldn’t expect him to be ready to fight off an attack just because he claimed he wanted any excuse to fight a member of the Order.

The caravan struggled a little with the rough terrain, but there was just enough of a path beaten into the forest floor to make the trail passable. Just as the greenery was becoming too thick to traverse, the ruins came into view. Rough, crumbling stone of dark gray was a stark contrast to the green moss coating nearly every inch of it, the lush vegetation doing its best to reclaim the land for nature, man’s influence long forgotten.

It was obvious the area had been camped in before, just as Jaebum said. There was an area cleared out in the center perfect for lighting a fire, and they did just that, setting up the caravan near the mouth of the cave-like structure which had become of the former temple. The horses drank from puddles of water which had pooled on the smoothest portions of the stone floors, nibbling at the moss lazily. Jackson wondered what old gods may have been worshipped here. The carvings upon the walls were too worn to offer him any insight.

The party settled around the fire with some small game animals Jaebum and Jinyoung has managed to catch for them. Once they were finished, Mark disposed of the remnants as he had previously, before returning to the camp. He sat once more next to Jackson, looking over their newest member.

“You’ve provided us shelter and even food. Such kindness isn’t typical of a man in your profession.” Mark said, no implication in his tone.

Jaebum shrugged. “I’m from the North. We’re a very hospitable people.”

“You’re from the North, too?” Youngjae asked, eyes bright as he looked the bounty hunter over. “Jinyoung and Yugyeom… they hail from there as well. It’s so strange to meet so many fellow foreigners here in the East. I always… felt quite out of place in the villages where I stayed. Learning the language was… hard.”

Jaebum nodded. “Once the masters of the North had taught me their ways, I journeyed to the East to expand my knowledge and skill. I settled in the desert lands for a short time, but once the Order made it clear I would never be allowed to join them, I continued journeying throughout the East.”

“Never gone to the West?” Youngjae queried, curious.

“No… their fighting styles are largely adapted from ours, and often for show or the amusement of royals. I had no interest in their teachings.” Jaebum explained.

Youngjae laughed. “I suppose you aren’t wrong.”

“So, another Northerner, huh?” Yugyeom asked as he plopped down in front of the fire, near Jinyoung. “Such mixed company.”

“Well, we have four Northerners who have lived in the East nearly all their lives, an Eastern-born assassin raised among the desert people, an Eastern mainland royal and a migrant from the Southern Islands.” Jackson said. “I would say so.”

“Quite the motley crew we make.” Yugyeom chuckled. 

“It’s not so strange. We all share the same ideals.” Jinyoung replied. “And you know what they say… the crayfish sides with the crab.”

“No one… says that.” Jackson said slowly, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“They do! I can attest.” Youngjae piped up.

“Must be a Northern expression.” Jackson shrugged. “I’ve never heard it.”

Mark looked up, then. “In the Order, we had such a saying. We would say, ‘birds of a feather flock together’. It’s an expression of the desert people.”

Jackson smiled at him in that fond way of his, and Yugyeom retched silently behind his hand in BamBam’s direction. BamBam just shook his head at Jackson like he was the biggest idiot on the continent. But when the prince looked back to the others, it was with a sort of humility they had never seen.

“Here in the East, we have a saying: ‘a single thread cannot become a cord’…”

“...’and a single tree does not make a forest’.” Mark finished.

Jackson nodded. “I may have been born into a powerful family… but it is clear that name, that wealth, even that legacy… means nothing. I cannot possibly complete this mission alone, and I am… very grateful to have found others to support me in this endeavor.”

“So cordial, your highness. Some of us are just here for the glory.” Jaebum teased, bumping fists with BamBam.

“And you shall have it. If we take back my kingdom, I… well. I won’t even know how to begin repaying you. But I will. In the meantime, you have my gratitude.” Jackson replied.

Mark grinned to himself, watching the fire, the way the flames danced in the night. His prince was truly so humble. It made his chest swell with pride, though he could not say why for certain.

“Perhaps gratitude will buy me a kingdom of my own someday.” Jaebum joked. He and the other dissolved into laughter, all except Mark, who continued watching the fire pensively.

The party conversed for a long while, until the sky was black as pitch and the moon shone overhead. Yugyeom yawned and stretched dramatically, trying to get out of first watch… but BamBam knew him well enough to surmise he would be impossible to rouse in the middle of the night, and insisted they take the first watch anyway. Before preparing for sleep, Youngjae approached Mark, his medicine bag in hand.

“I assumed you would be running low, so I thought I would bring you some more. Your condition isn’t improving as much as I’d like. Have you been…?” Youngjae blinked down at the vials in his pack, counting them. “You haven’t been taking the tincture.”

“I haven’t.” The assassin admitted.

“Mark you absolute imbecile!” Youngjae shouted, so loud that it called everyone else’s attention. “You cocksure, stubborn idiot. You are going to get yourself killed. This was the only thing that staved off your infection, helped your body fight the poison! Take. The. Medicine.”

Mark frowned as several vials were shoved into his hands. “It makes me dizzy. I can’t risk—”

“There are five other people here who will help Jackson if someone were to come for him. Take it.” Youngjae hissed. “You can’t protect him like this regardless.”

Mark grimaced, but when he saw Jackson approach them, a betrayed look on his face, he sighed and popped the cork off of one of the vials, downing it in a single go.

“At least take one additional dose… since you missed several. But no more than that, or you may experience… additional side effects.” Youngjae said.

Mark would have protested, were it not for Jackson standing there looking for all the world like he needed to see him take it, just to know he wasn’t liable to drop dead right there in front of him. He sighed and drank another of the vials, handing them back to Youngjae.

The healer nodded in a chiding sort of way before packing up his things. He gave Jackson a long, expectant look before walking away. The prince took the hint, turning to his guard once the other had gone.

“Mark—”

“Highness, please don’t reprimand me for doing what I believed was best for your safety.”

Jackson made a pained noise. “Mark. That isn’t fair.”

“This isn’t some manipulation of your feelings for leniency. It is the truth.” Mark told him, his voice hard. “Had I taken the medicine earlier, I may not have lasted as long as I did against Jaebum.”

“You didn’t last against him regardless.” Jackson reminded him. “He nearly killed you, because your body is so desperately fighting to heal while you continue to be so reckless—”

“I continue to do only what I must.” Mark said slowly, deliberately. “I have not gone running off looking for fights. I have fought only those who have come for you, as is my duty.”

“I know, Mark. It’s just—” Jackson sighed, taking him by the arm and moving him toward the caravan, away from the others’ stares. Mark felt his world tilt, felt his vision swim, stumbling until he managed to snag the door of the caravan to balance himself.

“I can’t protect you like this.” Mark snarled, wishing for all the world that he could claw through his skin until his blood ran free, removing the medicine and its influence.

“Then rest.” Jackson said, too calmly, as though it were the simplest answer in the world. He placed his hands on Mark’s shoulders, reassuring but also grounding, and for a moment, Mark’s vision stopped swimming. “Please. The others can handle it. Trust in them as I trust in you.”

“Have I not earned that trust with years of loyalty?” Mark asked weakly, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. “Have I not proven myself for that trust?”

“Jinyoung has already put himself between us and an assassin.” Jackson reminded him. “Trust them. I don’t ask you to trust them as much as I trust you, but trust their intentions.”

Mark sighed. “I… will try.” 

“Now go and get some rest. I believe you will feel much better in the morning.” Jackson told him, and there was something so reassuring in his tone that Mark believed him.

He climbed into the caravan, and it wasn’t long before sleep took him, the medicine making him feel as though his body were being gently rocked in ocean waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did that thing again where I wrote too much and had to chop it up. I’ll get a handle on estimating Chapter length one of these days.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much of this was meant to be in the last chapter, but for my sanity and a quicker update, I split it. Also, I’m sure you noticed the rating went up to E and I added some new ship tags, but…... I have nothing to say for myself.
> 
> A fair warning, I will probably give this fic a small break while I work on some others, particularly the last chapter of Robot. But I’ll come back to it! I also have no idea how long it will be at this point… somewhere between 7-10 chapters.

Watch was split more evenly with another person to lend a hand. Jaebum took watch with Youngjae, and Jinyoung with Jackson. Yugyeom and BamBam took their usual first watch together, the former casting a furtive glance to the officer as they changed posts, asking if he could take watch with him next time in a tone that was far too suggestive to be innocently-intended. Jackson seemed amused by the exchange, but Jinyoung was mortified as BamBam dragged the boy back to the center of camp.

Morning came, and the weather remained seasonably pleasant. They made good time on the northern roads, and managed to avoid coming across too many people as well. Just as before, they only seemed to cross paths with a traveling merchant or two, but thankfully no bounty hunters this time. Jaebum was helpful in keeping them away from the towns and villages, knowing where they would be as he’d visited them in his travels… but the further they strayed from them, the less he was able to guide them, and they eventually ended up rather far off the beaten trail, in a bamboo grove which climbed up into the mountainside. There was a river cutting through the stone, barreling down the cliffside and casting rainbows in the mist. The light was dwindling, and everyone was tired, so they decided it was as good a time as any to stop.

The party made camp by the river near the waterfall. Mark wasn’t too pleased about the location; the rushing water made it difficult to hear if anyone or anything was approaching them. However, the benefit of being so near the water, especially fresh water where they could clean themselves and their clothes, outweighed the risks in everyone else’s minds, and so they stayed.

The orange haze of dusk was settling when Jackson insisted on accompanying Mark to find suitable firewood. Jaebum and Jinyoung had been put in charge of hunting, so they’d been sure to go the way opposite them as to not disturb their prey. They were surrounded by bamboo groves, plants which did not make very good kindling when freshly cut, and the moisture from the waterfall was far-reaching, which meant they had to venture further up toward the mountainside to find better options. Jackson had forged ahead of his guard simply to make a point, wanting to be the one protecting him for a change, given his condition… but he suddenly saw a massive shape moving to his left. In the light of dusk, he swore he saw stripes of orange and black contrasting against the greenery, and his heart seized in his chest.

Jackson stumbled back, hitting the dirt and scrabbling away with a shout of surprise. Mark dropped to his side, covering his mouth.

“Shh, Highness, look.” He hissed softly, motioning to the creature with his chin. “It’s just a panda and her cubs. They’re harmless.”

Jackson took a calming breath, looking again. Sure enough, it was a large black-and-white bear, with two miniatures of herself. They were lumbering by, unbothered, the cubs struggling to keep up on their smaller legs. When one caught on a root, it tripped into the other, causing both the babies to tumble. They started barking at each other, pathetic little wails as they swatted at one another with their tiny paws. The mother gave a loud grunt of a bark, nudging at them, and they broke apart, continuing to walk with her.

Jackson had wrapped his hand around Mark’s wrist to pull it away from his mouth, but he’d become so distracted that he hadn’t noticed he had already dropped it to his chest. They watched for some time, until the bears had lumbered their way into the trees far up enough into the mountainside that they could no longer be seen. Jackson let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Wow.” He found himself murmuring, for lack of anything else to say.

Mark grinned, huffing a laugh as he got to his feet, helping Jackson to his own. “They really spooked you. Afraid it was an assassin?”

“Tiger, actually.” Jackson muttered, looking at the ground.

“Oh.” Mark frowned. He would never forget the sight of his king’s mangled, lifeless body, the look of sheer heartbreak in Jackson’s eyes when he told him the news. His entire life had been fraught with blood and death, and it had never haunted him like the image of his broken king and his king’s broken son did. He would never stop seeing it in his mind’s eye, so long as he lived.

Mark’s hand found Jackson’s elbow, cradling it as he so often did, reassuring and grounding all at once. “Highness you… know I would have given anything to have been there… to have prevented it. Even my own life.”

“I know.” Jackson said softly, meeting his eyes. “But I could not want for that. Not after all you have done for me. And I hope that… you aren’t being so reckless with the belief that you are making up for what you perceive as a failing.”

Mark’s lips were pressed into a grimace, and he looked away. Jackson let out an offended sound, shoving him… though his guard did not budge at all.

“Mark! You did not fail him… and you did not fail me. You are… the only reason I am alive right now. If you hadn’t betrayed the Order…” He paused, suddenly, looking at the other in horror and wrenching his arm out of his grip. “Wait. Did you only choose to remain loyal to me out of… guilt?”

Mark’s head snapped up, then, pain clear upon his face. “Highness, no. I harbor a great deal of guilt over your father’s death, yes… but I would have made the same decision were he still alive and on his throne. I swear it.”

Jackson frowned, turning the words over in his head for a moment before accepting them with a tentative nod. “All right… I… apologize, for doubting you once more.”

“You needn’t apologize, Highness.” Mark replied softly, moving to set a hand on his shoulder out of habit. He seemed to think better of it, however, remembering how the prince had just pulled away from him so avidly. He hesitated before letting his hand drop to his own side. “I know you do not doubt me, so much as my intentions and reasonings—”

“No, Mark, I…” Jackson found himself snatching at the other’s wrist before it could fall away, meeting his eyes with an earnest stare. “I don’t doubt you. I suppose I’ll just… never understand _why_.”

His prince’s expression was so fervent… so sincere. There was a question there within his eyes, and Mark looked away, his mouth a grim line. It was several more seconds before he spoke.

“I didn’t think.” Mark admitted, voice low and raw. “Well, I suppose… that isn’t true. I did think, in that… I knew what I was doing. I knew the consequences. I knew what it would mean for me, and for you, if I ran instead of agreeing to the Order’s request. But I… did not care. In that moment, I thought only of your safety, and I acted in the only way I believed would spare your life.”

Jackson didn’t speak. Mark hadn’t answered his question… not really, and they both knew it. Mark swallowed, the hand not held so ardently by Jackson’s own balling into a fist.

“It was because… there was not a single second after the Elder gave me the mission that I believed I could do it. It did not even cross my mind as an option, as though it were an impossibility, despite that every moment of my training with the Order was to ensure that I would obey such without question.”

Mark stepped closer, causing Jackson to release his wrist… but Mark’s hands moved up, gripping Jackson’s arms in a way which was both grounding and imploring. Their eyes met again, and Jackson could see the warring emotions within them. 

“You are… my responsibility. You are my charge. Your safety is my burden, your protection is my duty. For these past few years, you have been my days and my nights… my driving force. My sole purpose. You are my prince… my future king. You are _mine_. The moment the Elder gave his Order, I knew that I could not live in a world without you in it, let alone take your life myself. And had I not been so concerned with getting you away from that place, I would have taken the Elder’s life for daring to even suggest it.”

There was so much bitterness and venom in his tone as he finished his last sentence that Jackson brought his hands up to the other’s chest, setting them softly upon his leather armor in a quelling gesture.

“Mark, I… don’t know what I would do if I lost you, either.” He murmured, leaning forward until his forehead rested upon the other’s chin.

“You will never have to know.” Mark promised, his lips brushing the prince’s hair. “I will not rest until you sit back upon your rightful throne, and we are safe behind your palace walls.”

It was as much an oath as any Mark had sworn, and Jackson believed it with all his heart.

They stood like that for a long moment, until Jackson’s hammering heartbeat had slowed to match the steady cadence of Mark’s own… only for it to leap in his chest once more when someone shouted for them from camp.

Jackson pulled away hastily, busying himself with gathering up every fallen branch he could find and avoiding Mark’s gaze with a nervous sort of laugh. The assassin merely grinned in amusement and helped him in his task before they returned to camp with plenty of dry wood in hand.

Jaebum and Jinyoung had returned with the spoils of their hunt… several pheasants, enough for all. It took them a bit of time to pluck and prepare them, but soon everyone was eating around the fire. Once they had finished, Mark obediently took Youngjae’s tincture under the healer’s watchful gaze and Jackson’s meddlesome concern. The single dose was far less impactful than two had been, and his limbs only felt a little heavy, his vision only slightly hazy when he sat with the others around the fire.

The four northerners were conversing in their native tongue, BamBam shouting at them that they had better not be talking badly about him. While he had taught Yugyeom a bit of the language of the southern islands, he had been a rather helpless student so far in learning the language of the north. Jackson joked that they were being rather cruel, choosing not to divulge that he spoke the language himself, as it was far more entertaining to see what they might say if they did not believe he would understand it. After a while, Mark’s focus became foggy, and he found himself drifting in the moments he allowed his guard to drop, even for an instant. The voices around him began blurring together before fading out altogether into the roar of the waterfall nearby.

He didn’t know how long he was out for… his perception of time had left him, but when he came to, it was to an insistent nudging and his name, called softly by a familiar voice. When he opened his eyes, he realized he was leaning on Jackson’s shoulder. His prince didn’t seem to mind, however, offering him a sweet smile.

“You should move to the caravan and get some sleep.” He murmured. The others were still conversing, and didn’t seem to notice.

Mark just grunted, because he was in no condition to argue. He got to his feet, Jackson helping him, but eventually he waved the other off, insisting he could handle himself. Jackson just watched after him as he headed off to get some shut-eye.

“Does he know he’s staring after him like a lovesick maiden?” Yugyeom asked, in the northern tongue. The others laughed, and it took everything in Jackson not to react, since he didn’t want them to know he understood it.

“Well, not everyone just jumps into the lap of whomever they desire, you know.” Youngjae chided in the very same language.

Yugyeom snorted. “I don’t do that. I just believe in being forthright. I believe in being clear on what, and who, I desire.”

BamBam, who had been hopelessly trying to follow the unfamiliar language, seemed to recognize what he said enough to formulate a response, though it was in the eastern tongue, “You believe in being a harlot.”

Yugyeom smirked, shrugging. “You know me so well.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “I feel as though I missed a great deal of context here.”

“What context is needed for Yugyeom being as insatiable as a beast in heat?” BamBam teased.

“You’re one to talk! I’ve never known you to say no! To _anything_.” There was an implication in Yugyeom’s tone that was hard to miss.

“I fear we’re straying into dangerous territory again…” Jinyoung muttered. “Truly, we have no desire to involve ourselves in your private life.”

Yugyeom let out a loud sigh, pouting. “Too bad…”

Jaebum, meanwhile, was trying unsuccessfully to contain his laughter. “You’re all a trip. I can see I’ve chosen my company well.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jackson replied in jest, and that had everyone laughing.

***

When morning came, Mark found himself feeling well-rested and refreshed, more so than he had in days… however, no one seemed in much of a rush to leave. They were simply milling about, making use of the river or the waterfall while they had the chance. It wasn’t until Jinyoung stood at the center of camp and looked off into the distance with a pensive expression that the others took notice.

“Something troubling you?” Youngjae asked.

“We need to keep moving east, that is for certain… but we’ve lost the road.” Jinyoung said, his gaze tracking the flow of water down river. “We could follow the water, but that may be difficult in the denser brush.”

“As we aren’t particularly familiar with the area, I’ll need to get a lay of the land before we move on regardless.” Mark said, his eyes trailing up toward the cliffside. “I can find us a road.”

Jaebum frowned. “I used to have a map of the area, but I lost it in a weiqi game to some pirates.”

Youngjae blinked at him. “Pirates?”

“Sure. I traveled by ship to the islands in the far east, to the place they call the land of the rising sun. Merchant ships were, ironically enough, less safe than pirate vessels… since they were so often raided. It made more sense to travel with the ones doing the pillaging.” Jaebum explained. “Usually they’re terrible at any form of gambling, but only when they’re drunk. It was my mistake for playing them sober.”

“Quite the life you’ve led.” Youngjae replied with a soft laugh. By the time he looked back toward the group, Jackson was shouting at Mark, who was standing at the edge of the falls, checking for his footing at the base of the cliffside.

“Are you out of your mind? You’ll slip! This isn’t the palace roof back home.”

“Highness, the Order took us out in sandstorms and rain showers and had us climb every manner of mountain and building, often while blinded or hindered in some fashion. I assure you, this is nothing.” Mark told him, sounding equal parts exasperated and amused. He did not allow for further argument, jumping up to grab hold of a jut of rock just out of his standing reach and using it to pull himself up.

Mark’s injured shoulder protested only enough to cause a dull ache when he allowed it to take most of his weight, so he favored the other, climbing with relative ease. The slick moss made the journey a little perilous, but he was unbothered by it, merely ensuring his grip was true before moving up. Eventually, he reached the summit, easily pulling himself to his feet while Jackson watched on in horror and worry.

The cliff afforded an incredible view of the mountains to the north, but he instead turned toward the southeast. He could see well into the distance, where the trees stretched on and on toward the horizon. He could see where the river wound through the forest into thicker patches of trees, and he could see where the trees became sparser to the south, allowing safer passage. They were in unclaimed territory, not a single township or village in sight beyond the treeline.

He heard the others shouting up to him, but their words were drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. He peered down at them, so small at his current distance. He eyed the slick cliffside, then the water below, before stepping away from the precipice, walking several paces in the opposite direction before turning back the way he’d come.

Mark ran to the edge, spread his arms, and leapt.

He heard a shout of surprise or perhaps protest, but he did not dwell on it. There was a moment before the drop… when he was suspended there in the air with no ground beneath him, that he felt the entire world fall away, and everything went blessedly silent and still. To jump from incredible heights was one of the first abilities taught to an assassin in the Order. Even at young ages, trainees were challenged to jump from higher and higher ledges, often with little more than mounds of furs or hay to break their falls. And then, their final task was given in order to prove they were worthy of the title assassin: they were made to jump with no view of the ground beneath them, no guarantee that a safe landing awaited them.

It was dubbed a “leap of faith”.

Many trainees could not bring themselves to make the jump. Many more hesitated and earned broken bones for their lack of commitment. Some others even met their ends… but the jump was to prove an acolyte did not fear death.

Mark had never feared death… though he did not welcome it, either.

Mark had jumped, not a bit of hesitation in his stride, and landed safely, just as every time before. He was rewarded for it with the title of assassin, no longer merely an acolyte. He had been just thirteen years old… one of the youngest ever to earn the honor. And what had he gotten for it? The sharp end of a cold blade, and complete and utter betrayal.

The bitter thought had Mark returning to himself, where he was careening toward the earth. He pivoted through the air with ease, a simple flip, positioning himself so that he could spear through the water in a dive. When he hit the surface, there was hardly even a splash, the water settling quickly… as though it hadn’t been disturbed at all. That was, until he surfaced a short moment later, so close to the shore that he simply stood up from where he was, walking up onto dry land with a smile and a bark of a laugh.

The rest of the company was tittering at him by the water’s edge, offering a soft round of applause and impressed nods, though Youngjae was shaking his head in bemusement. All except Jackson, who stood a little ways back… he had, at first, looked as though he were ready to berate his guard, or fuss over him, or some combination of the two… but now, he was only staring as if in complete awe.

Jackson felt as though someone had reached into his throat, coiled a hand around his heart and lungs and squeezed. His breath caught, stolen, his mouth hanging open like a starving koi’s.

Mark was smiling.

No… Mark was _beaming_.

In the most literal sense, Jackson had seen Mark smile. He had witnessed plenty an amused upward curl of his lips, or a cocksure smirk, or a fond grin… but he had never seen him truly smile. Not like this.

Years of laughter had stayed locked behind sealed lips. He had seen his teeth bared in the heat of combat more than he had ever seen them otherwise. Jackson wondered if he felt more free to be himself without the legacy of the Order looming behind him. He wondered if Youngjae’s medicine was loosening his inhibitions, the way a strong drink was known to do, though he knew the other hadn’t taken any since the night before. Jackson was used to seeing a side of Mark no one else did, surely… but this was beyond even that, as though he was allowing his stoic discipline to drop, if only for a moment.

Now, he looked entirely at ease… comfortable, even _joyful_ , letting out a soft laugh that may have been the most gorgeous sound Jackson had ever heard. He’d never witnessed anything quite like it. But how could he? Mark was an assassin… a guard charged with protecting another, even up to the cost of his own life. He was not allowed a life of his own, or the freedom to think and feel as he chose. Jackson could not help but think, what cruel god had deigned to curse Mark with such a gruesome upbringing, only to saddle him with the burden of protecting someone like him? He, an imbecile of a prince who could not even look his own stepmother in the eyes and detect any hint of betrayal before she had ripped his entire life away in one fell swoop.

Another laugh called Jackson’s attention back. Mark’s perfect smile was still on full display when he raked a hand through his soaked hair to get it out of his face. Only Yugyeom seemed to also have the good sense to stare, making a face as though he thought no human being should be allowed to look that attractive when sopping wet.

“You’re going to be soaked for today’s ride.” Jinyoung admonished.

“It will keep me from getting too hot.” Mark countered, pointing at him and raising his eyebrows as though he were quite proud of that observation.

“I’ll need to change your bandages before we leave, lest those fester.” Youngjae chided.

“They needed to be changed as it was.” Mark reminded him, which only earned him a shrug of acquiescence from the healer. He unclasped the closures along his tunic before peeling it off, wringing it out a little before draping it along the door of the caravan.

Youngjae went to grab his supplies while Mark peeled away the sopping bandages wrapped around his shoulder and midsection. The healer teased him about how the tincture must have had him feeling better already, given his light mood, and Mark admitted he felt much less run down than he had in days past.

Jackson couldn’t think. He could hardly breathe. All he could do was stare, replaying that sight over and over again in his mind. The others went about packing up the rest of the camp… all except Yugyeom and Jackson, who were watching the healer and the assassin attentively.

After a moment, Yugyeom slid up next to Jackson, eyes never leaving Mark. “If you’re not partaking in that, I’d do it for you.”

Jackson didn’t respond; he was distracted by the same thing Yugyeom was. The bard continued.

“Or, you know, even if you are… if you don’t hate sharing…”

Jackson’s brow furrowed as he turned to look at him. “What? Share what?”

Yugyeom blinked at him owlishly before his face broke into a conspiratorial smirk. “Oh, you poor royal bastard. I thought he was playing dumb to protect your reputation, but he wasn’t. That’s a damn shame. Now I actually pity you.”

He shook his head as he walked off, leaving Jackson to stare after him in confusion.

***

The party traveled for days, remaining along the forest paths and camping away from prying eyes. They had managed to elude the Order so far, and Mark was recovering well with the help of Youngjae’s medicine. But their supplies were running low, and with no sign of the coast on the horizon, it was nearly impossible for them to tell how far east they had journeyed with any kind of certainty.

On a cool autumn evening, the company sat huddled around a crackling fire at the mouth of a mountain chasm, eating sparse spoils from a hardly-successful hunt. It was a little sobering, the mood of the company less jovial than in nights past, and when Jinyoung cleared his throat, everyone looked up.

“As much as I would prefer to avoid it… it seems we must find a town to take refuge in soon.” He said in a regretful tone. “Our supplies dwindle, our horses will need to be tended to, the caravan maintenanced… we have little choice.”

Mark nodded. “I will… need to obtain less conspicuous garb, however.”

“And I will as well.” Jackson added. “Blue silks will see me spotted out as a royal too easily.”

Yugyeom stretched, the knuckles on his fingers cracking as he did so. “Well, if you find me a tavern, I’ll find you some coin. Unless his highness plans to pay for everything.”

“I had… limited currency on my person when we were forced to run for our lives.” Jackson admitted, frowning. He was not used to wanting for anything, and that was an adjustment.

“How exactly do you plan to part these tavern-dwellers from their money?” Jinyoung asked, suspicious. “Are you secretly some kind of thief?”

“I may have deft fingers, but I promise only to utilize them on my liuqin, so long as you’re around, Officer.” Yugyeom drawled, waving at him in such a way that his fingers curled elegantly in order from pinky to index. “Unless you had any other requests.”

The boy sent him a wink, and Jinyoung looked away, grimacing. “I urge you to keep them firmly focused upon your instrument.”

“Mm, you’re no fun.” Yugyeom pouted, leaning on BamBam.

“If I have been tracking our progress correctly, we shouldn’t be too far off from a village I have passed by in my travels… a small hamlet, nothing large enough to see us noticed and spotted out.” Jaebum said, turning to Jackson. “Unless your stepmother has spies in all corners of the continent.”

The prince let out a breath. “I cannot say, but I can speak to her determination to remain on my throne. I can’t underestimate her.”

“Then we won’t, either.” Youngjae replied with a decisive nod. 

After they had all eaten, BamBam went back to the caravan, then set to tracking down Mark before he could retire or attempt to convince the others he was well enough to take watch. He found the man sorting through their produce, pitching out the rotten fruits so they would not spoil the rest. The alchemist made a face at the over-sweet stench, recoiling a little. Mark appeared unbothered, however, as he looked up, cocking his head.

“Can I do something for you?”

“No, quite the contrary, actually.” BamBam said, holding out a round phial sloshing with dark liquid. “This is the ink I use to color my hair… it comes from my homeland. I’ve mixed it with some dark powder, so if you soak your white linens in it, it should turn them a deep brown.”

Mark blinked at him, taking the concoction. “Thank you.”

“It was no trouble.” BamBam insisted, wagging a finger at him. “Alchemy is good for more than just blowing things up, you know.”

“I… see that.” Mark replied, still a little taken aback.

“Sadly I can’t help Jackson’s silks, as they’re already dyed. But I have a spare cloak for him until we can find him something in town.” BamBam told him, grinning. “Anyway, you should do that soon so you can have time to leave it to dry.”

Mark just nodded somewhat distractedly, still staring at the contents swirling inside that phial, though he found himself watching the alchemist go as he walked off, aloof as ever.

Mark stripped of his weapons, armor and tunic, doing as BamBam suggested and leaving the fabric to soak in water stained with the ink he’d given him, using one of the fruit barrels which had nothing left of value and water from a nearby pond. Once the dye had seeped into the fibers, he rinsed it and let it hang to dry at the side of the caravan. His pants, thankfully, were already a deep gray… and he would simply have to hope that his leather armor was not too distinctive as belonging to the Order. As a precaution, he used one of his daggers to shear off the pointed corners of the shoulders and remove the decorative tails that hung from the four main panels, knowing they were not in any way practical.

The next morning, his tunic was stiff and a little damp, but an unremarkable medium shade of brown. An assassin would be able to spot him out by his weapons, by the ornate scrollwork embossed into the corners of his leather armor, by the shadow of the intricate black patterns at the top hem of his sleeves, still visible beneath the dye… but to a layman, he would not appear as an assassin of the Order. And that, that could buy them some time.

The party made their way southeast, hoping to find the village Jaebum had mentioned. After some hours of traveling, they spotted a plume of smoke in the distance and followed it, hoping it would be the place they were looking for. Instead, they happened upon a troupe of traveling merchants camping in the woods. However, they were familiar with the town the company sought. Not only that, but they happened to have along with them several maps and were more than willing to part with one for some coin. Jaebum worked with some of the merchants to mark the map he’d purchased with a few of the nearest towns and lesser-known landmarks while Jackson met with a weaver. He sold his own silks, trading them in for a much less vibrant linen ensemble in olive green, as well as a cloak of his own to ward against the coming colder weather.

If the merchants had been aware of their identities, they did not make it known, and the party left with more information and supplies than they could have hoped for. They would still need to find that village, but for the time being, they would have an easier time in their journey.

Night had fallen by the time they made it to that quaint little town, and all the shops were closed save the inn and its tavern. They decided a rest was earned, as well as a drink. Jinyoung saw to it that the caravan and the horses were secured in the nearby stables, then joined the others at the bar.

The place was fairly busy, surprising for a town with such a small population… but sensible when one considered it was likely the only place with any entertainment or drink nearby. There were pods of men playing cards with zi pai decks, and others yet playing mild drinking games involving throwing small objects into large mugs. There were plenty of loners sitting off on their own, nursing their drinks and minding their business. No one was too rowdy, and the atmosphere was calm. Mark, who had been on edge the moment they entered, seemed placated. He was not in favor of their group, which contained no less than three men who did not know when to shut their mouths, entering a place where things could get heated and arguments stoked. He was not looking to quell any fights.

The party found a large, round corner table to sit around, all except BamBam, who immediately made for the bar with his coinpurse in hand. He slid a fair bit of money across the counter as he looked the place over.

“What can I get for you gentlemen?” The barkeep asked. He was an older man with graying hair and spotted skin. He had clearly worked the fields before taking over the establishment. He seemed kind enough, but there was a rough sort of edge to him, as though he had witnessed a fair deal in his life and did not tolerate much.

“We’ll need three rooms for the evening, but for now… two pitchers of your finest ale, and a corner near your hearth, if you can spare it. My friend and I would love to play for your patrons while we partake in your drink, if you’d allow it.”

The man gave a wheezy laugh. “Sure, if you’re any good. My regulars are a surly bunch, though, so expect to get heckled if you aren’t the gods’ gift to music.”

BamBam snorted. “We enjoy a challenge.”

“Well, all the rooms upstairs are available tonight, take any you prefer.” The man said before starting on their drinks.

Once the barkeep had filled the pitchers, he brought them over to the corner table with enough mugs for everyone before returning to the bar. Yugyeom grabbed at one of the mugs quickly, pouring himself a drink and guzzling it down as fast as he could manage.

“Only enough liquid courage to keep yourself lively. I’ve negotiated for you to play. In your own time, Gyeomie.” BamBam told him, snapping up the glass from him to steal a swig for himself. “We can take any rooms upstairs, we’re the only ones staying, it seems.”

Everyone poured a drink for themselves… all except Mark, who simply watched the crowd, his eyes tracking over the tavern’s patrons one by one. Jackson poured him a drink, but he didn’t touch it. Yugyeom let out a sigh of satisfaction, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and unclipping his cloak from his shoulders.

“All right, let’s go.” He clapped his hands down on the table, standing. “Before we lose the early-birds.”

BamBam gave a laugh of agreement, walking with Yugyeom over to the hearth. The regulars of this tavern had likely seen their share of traveling bards… but it was doubtful that many had been very skillful. Several of the patrons grimaced or even laughed, nudging at their friends and whispering what were most certainly disparaging remarks. It didn’t bother the boys any… BamBam retrieved his flute, and Yugyeom his liuqin, leaving an open coinpurse on the ground in front of them.

A soft, sweet melody floated from BamBam’s instrument, Yugyeom plucking gently at the strings of his own to start. It was a slow and soft tune, nothing requiring any great measure of skill… but upon hearing notes so crystal-clear and perfectly on-pitch, the patrons seemed to ease up, the ones previously ignoring them now turning to listen. From the table, the rest of the company looked on. Jackson, Mark and Jinyoung had only seen Yugyeom playfully using his liuqin to make a racket, never to make actual music. However, it was clear that he possessed quite a measure of skill.

The tune picked up, Yugyeom’s fingers flying across the strings, faster and faster, until the piece had swelled into an upbeat dancing tune. It was hard to fathom that all that sound was coming from a single instrument… the overlapping notes almost appearing impossible to achieve with just the one liuqin. BamBam’s melody was coming sharper and faster, now, too, in time with the other.

The patrons were all listening, now… even those who had once been so embroiled in their games. They seemed almost enraptured, some of them tapping their feet or their mugs in time with the beat. Eventually, most of the crowd joined in, stomping their feet or slapping their mugs or hands down onto their tables in unison in a steady rhythm like the beat of a group of drums. Yugyeom smiled, letting out a soft laugh of amusement as they continued playing, emboldened in knowing that their music was being enjoyed.

The end of their first song was met with cheers and a splash of coins. BamBam left Yugyeom to play one of his solos while he went to get another drink, as playing his wind instrument had always made him parched. When he walked by the back wall of the tavern, he noticed a guzheng on display, as if nothing more than a quaint little decoration.

As he approached the counter, the bartender was ready for him, already pouring some ale into a fresh mug.

“Your friend there is quite the artist.” The man said, sliding him the drink. “This one is on the house. I’ve never seen my regulars so delighted.”

BamBam smiled, taking it. “Our gratitude. He enjoys being allowed to share his music with others.”

“Well, stay and share as long as you like.” The innkeeper replied with a laugh.

“Say… speaking of music.” BamBam said, tossing his head toward the large instrument in the far corner. “Your guzheng, does anyone play?”

The innkeeper scoffed. “Afraid not. My mother was the last. Her children never took any interest, nor did mine. It just sits collecting dust. If you can manage to tune it, it might still make decent music.”

BamBam smiled, taking that as permission.

While Yugyeom continued to play his liuqin for the crowd, BamBam worked in the corner to dust off and tune the guzheng. It wasn’t in bad condition, just a little neglected. Yugyeom was playing one of his longer pieces, which gave him plenty of time. He slid the plectra onto his fingers, testing the notes. It took him several minutes to adjust the strings before the sound was to his liking, but by the time Yugyeom had finished his song, he was done.

“Together?” He asked, motioning to the guzheng as he moved it to sit closer to the hearth.

Yugyeom smiled, nodding. “It’s been so long since we’ve been able to play strings together. Sure you aren’t rusty?”

“You worry about your own technique and I will manage mine.” BamBam retorted with a smirk.

In perfect time, they began a new piece, this time playing in unison. It was another traditional song which started slow and simple, almost soothing. As it progressed, the cadence changed, eventually swelling to an impressive crescendo before being brought back down to a sweet melody. The audience was enraptured once more, and one group of patrons left quite a few coins for them as they took their leave upon realizing the time.

“We travel among men of many talents, it seems.” Youngjae said over his mug as he watched with the rest of the company from across the room.

The others hummed in agreement, but many of their drinks remained untouched, their attentions so drawn by the music.

Once they had finished, Yugyeom glanced at their earnings, frowning a little. He set aside his liuqin, tapping on the carved wood of the guzheng twice. He spoke in BamBam’s native tongue, a little of which he had picked up while traveling with the man.

“Let’s earn a little more, shall we?”

Yugyeom stepped forward as he untied the silks belted around his waist, letting his changshan fall loose, tied only at his collarbone and hips where it slit openly up the sides. He wrapped the silks once around each hand, long enough that they pooled slightly upon the floor when held at shoulder height. He flicked them out a little, letting them settle next to him before nodding to BamBam.

The alchemist plucked at the strings, creating a soothing melody not unlike a lullaby. Yugyeom threw one of the scarves over the opposite wrist, pulling it slowly over until it reached the end, which he then turned and flicked out toward their observers. Everyone seemed to be watching raptly, curious… every stranger in the tavern had their eyes on him, and even the innkeeper was leaning on the bar, pausing in his work to watch. From their little alcove in the corner, the rest of the company looked on. Youngjae and Jackson appeared incredibly interested, Mark sitting next to the latter and not really paying attention, too busy scanning the crowd habitually as he had been the entire time, ever vigilant. Jaebum was much the same, glancing at each face in the room before allowing his focus to settle on Yugyeom.

Jinyoung, however, had his full attention on the pair. He was unable to help but admire the way BamBam’s hands moved so skillfully over the strings, the elegant way Yugyeom arched his back, letting the silk slide across his neck, then swish above him through the air as he turned, casting a flirtatious look over his shoulder. When the boy winked at him, Jinyoung choked, turning red to his ears.

The slow, sensual tune BamBam was playing picked up slightly, and Yugyeom’s movements along with it. For a moment, he was a blur of fabric as he twirled, the silks curving around him as though he commanded the wind itself. Once he had stopped, he threw them upward, then pulled them back down, his body swaying in time to the beautiful melody all the while. On his next twirl he took himself to the ground, dropping so smoothly that it appeared as one fluid motion. He rocked his hips up from the floor, the silks darting every which way around him, now, before falling still, just for the briefest moment… until Yugyeom leaned back entirely on his knees, his neck craned back and mouth hanging open in a rather lascivious display, the silks moving both to his front and past him as he flicked them out in the same movement.

His hands never touched the ground, but he was back on his feet again, spinning once more in an elegant array of silk and linen. The music crested with his dance, and when he settled into a low position with both scarves at his side, the thrum of the guzheng petered off before ceasing entirely, leaving the tavern in total silence.

That was, until Yugyeom stood and bowed with a sort of boyish, bashful grin, which seemed to break everyone from their stupor. He earned a soft round of applause, several whoops of encouragement and plenty of coin.

“Hm, who knew the mouthy brat was such an artist.” Jaebum commented with a smirk, finishing off his drink.

Youngjae swatted at his shoulder. “Don’t be so harsh on him. You have known him for such a short time. Hard to get to know anyone very well under such circumstances.”

“It’s not hard to understand someone’s character once you’ve traveled together. If even for a short time.” Jaebum replied sagely, winking at him.

Youngjae leaned forward on his elbows, chin resting on his hands. “Is that so? And just what kind of character do I have, then?”

Jackson made a face as though he thought this could only go poorly. But after humming thoughtfully for a moment, the bounty hunter answered.

“You’re compassionate, but that shouldn’t be confused for complacence or naivety. Jinyoung would argue it to spare his pride, but I’d say you’re the most level-headed in the group. Yugyeom’s antics amuse you more than they bother you because you choose not to allow yourself to be irritated by things very easily. And you may not know how to fight, but you know exactly what wild plants you could use to poison us all in our sleep, so you aren’t to be underestimated.”

Jaebum was wearing a smug little smirk by the time he was finished, and Youngjae sputtered, his face reddening. He grabbed his drink just to hide behind it for a few seconds.

Jaebum laughed, and he was the one leaning expectantly on his elbow, then, raising an eyebrow at the other. “Too candid? Or too accurate?”

“Too flattering.” Youngjae mumbled from behind his mug before setting it back down and clearing his throat in an attempt to compose himself.

“Oh, I could have been cruel in equal measure, but I don’t think we know each other well enough yet and I’d rather not earn your ire.” Jaebum replied with a grin. 

“You may want to reconsider, lest my ego get out of control.” Youngjae teased.

“The only one here in need of a shot to their ego is Jaebum.” Jackson chimed in, managing to keep the contempt in his voice well-concealed by humor.

Jaebum made an overly-dramatic, offended sound, clutching his chest. “You wound me, your highness.”

“Then my job is done.” The prince joked, smirking in a self-satisfied sort of way.

Across the room, Yugyeom was dancing again, this time to a much faster tune which BamBam strummed out on the guzheng. His movements were as fluid as ever, if almost erratic, and there was a biting sort of sensuality in them that couldn’t be ignored. His expressions were coy, anything but innocent even on his boyish features. He knew just how lewd he was being, knew exactly how to get everyone’s attention… and he seemed to be enjoying torturing Jinyoung with rather aggressive, flirtatious moves.

By the time they finished, Yugyeom’s fringe was matted to his forehead with sweat, his entire face glistening. He raked his hair up out of his own face and gathered up their earnings as BamBam put the guzheng away. Most of the patrons had parted, a calming sort of silence befalling the tavern. The barkeep had stopped serving drinks, busying himself with cleaning up.

BamBam headed over to the table where the rest of the company was seated, plopping down into a chair and stealing Mark’s drink, since he hadn’t touched it. No use in wasting it, and he wasn’t met with any protests as he gulped half of it down.

“Welp, here you are.” Yugyeom said as he joined them, tossing a rather heavy coinpurse onto the table with a dull clatter. “This should be enough to get us the rest of what we need, right?”

“But… you earned this. It’s yours.” Jinyoung said, brow furrowed.

“And I’m travelling with you all, so it’s ours.” Yugyeom replied, as though it were obvious. He took the mug from BamBam, polishing off what was left before setting it down on the table. “You lend your skills, and I lend mine. Mine just happen to make money in taverns.”

Jaebum chuckled. “My skills make money, too… but alas, not when I’m on such a mission as this. Hard to chase bounties while on the road with others.”

Yugyeom slumped onto BamBam’s shoulders, nuzzling at his cheek with a pout. “Bammie, are we taking first watch again?”

“You both worked hard.” Jinyoung answered for him quickly. “Why don’t you get some rest. I will take the first watch.”

“Really? Thank you, Jirongie!” Yugyeom’s face broke into a bright smile as he stood up straight. He grabbed at BamBam’s arm, tugging him to his feet. “Come on, I’m so tired. Let’s go get some sleep.”

“All right, all right.” BamBam soothed, following him up the stairs.

Youngjae looked at Jinyoung, raising an eyebrow. “Jirongie, huh?”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes, shrugging. “I’ve never had a nickname before. This is new to me.”

“Ah, so precious. Looks as though Yugyeom has taken to our fair officer.” Youngjae teased, winking at him.

“Better him than me.” Mark muttered, his bitter tone tempered with a humored smirk.

“Or me.” Jaebum added, a sort of harried look in his eyes. “A boy like that could bring out a wild streak in anyone, I’d wager. We’d tear the world down. We’re lucky the alchemist has some restraint, though I bet that’s your doing.”

He pointed to Jinyoung, who huffed. “Me?”

“Sure. Officer of the law… maybe it’s not a conscious thing, but Yugyeom did also say Bam’s not comfortable with us yet.” Jaebum reminded him with a shrug.

“May the gods help us when that day comes.” Mark murmured, and everyone nodded in agreement.

No one else was particularly tired, yet, so Jinyoung decided to head upstairs to find a good place to set up for his watch. Youngjae realized he hadn’t brought any medicine for Mark and went outside to the caravan to get it, Mark going with him simply to save him time… and also in his reluctance to leave anyone in the party on their own for too long. It was too much of a risk with assassins on their trail.

Upstairs, Jinyoung tracked along the hallway, taking stock of the place. They had their pick of any of the upstairs rooms, as he recalled. Only one of the doors was closed, so he assumed Yugyeom and BamBam had taken that one. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a voice through the door, a familiar whiny sort of tone which could only have belonged to the bard.

“Bam, I’m so tired…”

“That’s all right, I’ll take care of you.” BamBam murmured in reassurance, though the alchemist’s voice was barely loud enough for Jinyoung to hear. He froze, unable to will himself to move. Was it out of fear, shock… or something else?

“You were so beautiful, Gyeomie. Do you know how gorgeous you looked? If my hands hadn’t been busy with the strings, they would have been all over you.” BamBam continued, and Jinyoung felt his mouth go dry.

Yugyeom let out a soft whine that went straight to Jinyoung’s groin. He stepped back, horrified with himself. This wasn’t his place, he was encroaching, and…

“Did you like the way everyone was watching you? How they wanted you?” BamBam’s voice was like gravel, even through the door.

“Y-yes-!” Yugyeom hissed, making another sweet little sound. “Would’ve let any of them h-have me… but g-gods, the way Jinyoung _stared_...”

Jinyoung sucked down a sharp breath, swallowing hard. Behind the door, BamBam chuckled, amused… but dark. “Oh yeah? You’d rather have him here with you? You can close your eyes and pretend if you want. I know you have a very active imagination.”

Yugyeom keened, the noise searing hot and molten in his gut. “Y-yes… Bammie… want you _both_.”

“Mm, you’re so needy. I’ll even let you call out his name.” BamBam cooed, and Jinyoung felt as though his skin had become too tight. “Go on, let me hear it.”

“A-ah—!” Yugyeom whimpered with a bitten-off curse. “Ji—Ji—”

Jinyoung tore down the hall until he could no longer hear them, before he did something idiotic. He stood there in a dark corner, taking slow and steady breaths until he’d come to his senses again. Once he’d stopped shaking, he steeled himself and made to continue his watch, only to see Mark and Jackson standing there at the top of the stairs, gazes directly upon him.

He startled, clearing his throat. “Heading to bed?”

“Yes.” Mark answered, his expression impassive.

Jackson, however, was looking at him quizzically. “Are you all right, Jinyoung? You look as though something spooked you.”

“No, just a trick of the mind, I think.” Jinyoung replied, letting the prince think what he would. Although Mark’s expression didn’t change, it was clear he hadn’t fallen for it. “Rest well.”

Jackson gave him an earnest smile, one that made him feel guilty for being dishonest. The two headed to a room further down the hall, and from their lack of reaction, Jinyoung assumed that Yugyeom and BamBam had fallen silent.

***

Most of the next day was spent seeing to the company’s needs, including caring for the horses, replenishing their supplies and maintenancing the caravan. Yugyeom, who was not in need of anything, chose instead to mill about he village square, playing his liuqin for the children gathered there. He gave them the small flutes he and BamBam had made some days ago from the wild bamboo, and they delighted in it, joining his playing with harsh whistling accompaniments.

BamBam had taken off by himself to locate charcoal and sulfur, among other ingredients for his explosive concoctions. Jinyoung had gone to handle the caravan and horses while Mark and Jackson purchased rations. That left Jaebum to his own volition… though he chose to help Youngjae in his pursuit of the village apothecary. While he was quite capable of making do with what he found in nature, there were certain things he could only find in a town, though he wasn’t sure if such a small village would have what he needed.

Their exploits took most of the day, so the company decided to remain another night, with BamBam and Yugyeom performing at the inn again. They’d drawn a bit of a crowd when word got out they were returning, and their spoils were even better than the night before. They managed to earn more than they’d spent on the rooms, which had at least made it worth staying.

The next morning, they left with the rising sun, well-rested, well-fed and well-supplied. The horses’ coats had a lovely sheen in the sunlight, their saddles freshly oiled, their manes brushed and braided, and their shoes cleaned. They had also managed to chart a course on the map they’d obtained, now knowing with a little more certainty where they were heading and where they would be safest to camp.

Everyone was in a better mood than days before… Jinyoung seemed a little pensive, but his demeanor was untroubled. Yugyeom and BamBam didn’t only keep to themselves, nor did the former purposely try to get on others’ nerves. Jackson and Mark rode close to each other, the latter not seeming so worried about his guard’s condition as it continued to improve. Jaebum and Youngjae were conversing animatedly, pulling up the rear of the party. There was a sort of fascination in the way the healer looked at the bounty hunter when he spoke of his exploits, as though they were the most interesting tales he’d ever heard. Mark supposed he must have lived a sheltered life… but of course, it took quite a lot to impress him personally, given his own history. He noticed they spoke in their native language of the north, which they apparently did not know both he and Jackson could speak and understand.

Apparently, because Jaebum had spoken a bit flirtatiously, causing Youngjae to laugh and turn red to his ears. He would have to warn them later, lest they assume their conversations were private save to Yugyeom and Jinyoung.

The company decided to make camp a little early, before it grew too chilly. The others saw to the setup while Youngjae called Mark over to the caravan, wanting to check on his wounds. He hadn’t looked at them since he’d taken his little dive into the water, and he wanted to ensure their healing hadn’t been negatively impacted.

Mark sat in the caravan, chest bare, his weapons piled next to him. He seemed much more at ease with being stripped of them than he had in the past, having grown more comfortable with those surrounding him, he supposed.

Youngjae rubbed an improved version of his poultice into the wounds, which had scabbed over and were healing nicely based on the coloring of the surrounding skin. He did not wrap them again, knowing that at this stage, it was better to leave them bare and allow them to breathe.

“This is looking much better today, Mark. I think you’re finally on your way to a full recovery.”

“All thanks to you, no doubt.” The assassin replied.

“All thanks to you finally heeding me.” Youngjae countered, giving him a look. “I know it muddies your senses, but that tincture has helped your body fight the ill effects of that wound.”

“Hopefully I should no longer be in need of it soon.” Mark murmured. “While there have been no attacks, I felt I have been… idle. Unable to help the party. It… does not sit well with me.”

“I imagine it doesn’t.” Youngjae replied agreeably. “I would give it another day or so, to be safe. We should take advantage of our current lack of attackers, hm?”

“I suppose you’re right.” Mark admitted.

Youngjae wiped his hands on a clean cloth, looking over his work. “I think you’re done. We shouldn’t continue wrapping them at this stage.”

When Mark replied in thanks, this time it was in Youngjae’s native tongue.

The man blinked at him, wearing a curious expression. “You speak my language.”

“I thought I might warn you, in case your conversations with Jaebum begin to stray from platonic territory in my and his Highness’s presence.” Mark explained, in the very same tongue.

The healer blushed to his ears. “I… don’t think that should be a concern. But… er… thank you, for telling me.” He motioned to the other’s shoulder. “You should, uh… let that air out as much as possible. Maybe sleep without your armor for once, hm?”

“I’ll leave it off for now.” Mark replied with an agreeable grin, grabbing an apple and switching back to the native language of the mainland East. “Thank you again, Youngjae.”

The man left him with a nod and a smile, though his head was low in embarrassment.

 

The others were still not convinced enough to allow Mark to take watch, as he would still be under the influence of Youngjae’s medicine in the evenings… but he was granted permission to hunt, which felt like a victory. Armed with his bow and arrow, he and Jaebum crept out into the woods searching for game. Youngjae had taken Jackson in the opposite direction, wanting to look for a few useful herbs and teach the prince a bit more about the plants while he was at it. Jinyoung stayed behind at camp with Yugyeom and BamBam, who claimed they would be working on organizing BamBam’s alchemical items, which had apparently become a bit disorganized since their supply run. Truthfully, it had been a terribly threadbare excuse, and Jinyoung should have known better. He should have known not to go and check on them, should have known not to simply open the caravan door, expecting to find the two innocently sorting through powders and baubles.

Instead, he was met with quite a different sight. Yugyeom was sitting on top of BamBam, the alchemist’s wrists belted above him and hooked to one of the wooden slats in the side wall. His pants were at his ankles, shirt rucked up to his elbows, and Yugyeom’s own clothes had only been peeled off far enough to pool at his hips, covering the most vulgar portion of the scene. 

Jinyoung stilled, his entire body going rigid… he’d meant to avert his eyes, but he couldn’t force himself to for several long seconds. His face went beet-red, and he found himself stammering as he finally willed himself to take a step back. “O-oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Wait!” Yugyeom whined, reaching out to stop him. “You don’t… have to go. Stay.”

Jinyoung swallowed. “I sh-shouldn’t—”

“There has to be some part of you that wants this.” Yugyeom murmured, lifting his hips up before dropping them back down again. Beneath him, BamBam hissed, bucking up a little as his arms flexed against the restraints. “C’mon… I’ll make it so good for you. I can make you feel so good.”

Jinyoung should have said no. He should have held his ground, walked out the door, found a quiet place in the woods to put himself back in line, rein in those inappropriate thoughts now running wild in his head… but he didn’t. He could feel his resolve fading, flaking off like dry paint. Instead of backing away, he found himself glancing at BamBam, for approval or consent, he could not say.

The alchemist looked ethereal, hair sweaty and mussed, hanging just over his eyes, which were smoldering. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip, tipping his head up to regard him from beneath his lashes, nodding toward him with his jaw and letting out a soft hum of approval.

Jinyoung slipped into the caravan, closing the door behind him.

Yugyeom made a filthy, delighted little noise, lifting himself up on his knees to pivot around until he was facing away from BamBam. The alchemist made a low sound in his throat, as the other hadn’t even pulled off of him to do so, and it had felt glorious. Jinyoung allowed himself to be pulled into place in front of the younger man, settling onto his knees. Yugyeom let his hands wander, smoothing them over the front of his pants, biting his lip as he did so.

“Already so hard for us.” Yugyeom purred, and it made Jinyoung flush bright red. He wasted no time working on the older man’s layers, undoing the intricate knot at his navel which held up his tasset. It settled on the floor to either side of him, giving the other full access to his pants. He unlaced the leather threads near the hem, tugging them down until he could get his hands on bare flesh, wrap his fingers around his naked cock.

Jinyoung hissed a curse, jolting under the touch. His gaze hadn’t left Yugyeom, watching as he undressed him with such care, so unlike his usual reckless behavior. He was beautiful and sensual and so goddamn eager, and he would have never looked away had he not heard a completely filthy groan coming from the man behind Yugyeom.

BamBam was watching him over Yugyeom’s shoulder with hooded eyes, his teeth digging into his lip again. He shifted his arms, looking for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to grab the younger man’s hips and start pounding into him. Instead, he licked his lips, rutting his hips up just a little, just enough for his lover to feel him.

“You gonna suck him off while I take you, Gyeomie?”

“Yes.” Yugyeom hissed in a needy little voice, rolling back to meet his motion. He looked up at Jinyoung with pleading eyes. “I want to. May I?”

There was a sound, low and dark and deep and _wanting_ , and it was several seconds before Jinyoung realized it had come from him. He nodded, carding a hand into Yugyeom’s hair. The boy craned into the touch, a blissful look on his face as he dipped down lower, flicking his tongue out over him almost teasingly… just a sample. Even such a miniscule action had Jinyoung shivering, letting out a soft groan of approval.

Yugyeom grew bolder, however, letting the flat of his tongue slide up the entire length of him before he laved over the tip, his eyes not leaving Jinyoung’s. That was, until he took him down to the hilt, and Jinyoung had to clench his jaw to stifle the noise that drew out of him.

BamBam had started moving his hips in a steady rhythm, using the positioning of his feet on the floor to grind upwards, hard and slow. He shifted his arms a bit, making sure the belt’s grip on the wooden slat was strong enough to take his weight. When he realized it was, he leaned further back against it, utilizing the extra leverage to pick up his pace.

Yugyeom was making punched-out little groans with every thrust, each one forcing him closer to Jinyoung, making him take him deeper and deeper. Jinyoung feared he might choke, but the boy seemed unperturbed, swallowing around him and gulping down air in the small moments when he was able. His hands clutched desperately at Jinyoung’s hips, fingers digging into him, the only thing keeping him from toppling forward.

BamBam had started talking again, but he’d reverted to his mother tongue, though whether he realized he’d done so was hard to say. Jinyoung didn’t understand a lick of it, but it didn’t exactly matter; his breathless tone said everything. Yugyeom seemed to understand enough, letting out muffled little mewls and arching his back just so, trying to grind back onto the other in time with his quickening movements.

“Ah, _gods_ , Gyeomie-!” BamBam hissed in the common tongue, and _that_ Jinyoung understood. He spit a foreign curse, shuddering. He started talking in his own tongue again, and whatever he was saying had Yugyeom preening, his eyes rolling back, grip tightening on Jinyoung.

“Look at you…” Jinyoung murmured, the words leaving him before he could stop himself. His hand was still tangled into Yugyeom’s hair, just above his ear, but he moved it instead to the crown of his head, pulling his bangs back for a better view of his face.

BamBam looked up, an expression of wicked delight upon his face. He bit his lip around a smirk, switching back to the eastern tongue. “Look how well you’re taking us. It’s like you were made for this… wish you could see yourself. Gods… Jinyoung, you should fuck his mouth. He loves that.”

Jinyoung felt his breath catch, and he may have protested, but the sound Yugyeom made then was nothing short of blissful. He opened his eyes, looking up at him and all but _begging_.

Jinyoung just loosed a curse, certain he was bound to wake from this fever dream any moment… but he did not, and Yugyeom sat waiting, and he could not possibly refuse him.

It was slow, at first, as he tried to synchronize the movement of his hips with BamBam’s own… but once they moved in perfect unison, BamBam’s hips jerking up harshly while Jinyoung rolled his own more cautiously, Yugyeom shuddered, letting out a guttural sound that got caught up in his throat. Jinyoung’s grip in his hair tightened, his hips jolting.

BamBam was rambling in his mother tongue again, and it was obvious he was close, the cadence of his hips becoming erratic. His hands clenched where they were bound above him and he let out a feral snarl of a curse as he came, his entire body shaking.

Yugyeom groaned, long and wrecked and low, reveling in the feeling of it… and that was it. Jinyoung’s hand tightened once more in the boy’s hair and he barely managed to spit out a curse let alone a warning before he was coming. Unfazed, Yugyeom just pulled off to the tip and swallowed eagerly before licking him clean, looking up at the other. There was a smugness there, but underneath it, a vulnerability… a question. Was it—was _he_ —good enough?

Jinyoung’s hand dropped from Yugyeom’s hair, finding purchase at his jaw. He surged forward, capturing those reddened lips with his own. He could taste himself on the other’s tongue, but he was preoccupied with using his free hand to shove Yugyeom’s clothing out of the way, finally freeing his cock from under the fabric, red and dripping and painfully hard. He wrapped his fingers around him, and it only took one stroke for him to go rigid, loosing a broken little whine into Jinyoung’s mouth.

“Gods, you’re both gorgeous.” BamBam murmured, rocking his hips slowly where he was still somewhat hard inside Yugyeom. He wasn’t going to be able to keep it up long, but it didn’t matter. He could tell when the other was close from the way his body shivered around him, the way his spine locked up, fingertips digging hard into whatever surface they could find, in this case, Jinyoung’s arm and BamBam’s thigh. “C’mon, Gyeomie… come for him. Let him see how pretty you are.”

“Nnh-!” Yugyeom cursed, but it was swallowed eagerly by Jinyoung, whose hand was moving over him quickly, now, hot and rough and _just right_. “Ah… Jirongie… y-yes—!”

For a moment… just the briefest, fleeting moment, Yugyeom went completely silent. His body trembled through punched-out breaths before he _shuddered_ , loosing a too-loud, strangled whine as he came all over Jinyoung’s hand. BamBam groaned softly at the feeling of his lover’s body shaking and clenching around him, and given the use of his hands and thirty more minutes, he bet he could have made them both come again… but time was short, and it was too much of a risk. 

It was several long moments before they all caught their breath. It felt stifling in the caravan, their skin sticky and slick with sweat. After a long pause, Yugyeom extricated himself from BamBam’s lap, causing the latter to let out a quiet hiss. Sitting on his knees, he leaned up to kiss Jinyoung again, fingers tangling into the folds of his hanfu as he pressed himself closer, humming contentedly when their lips parted.

“Gyeomie…” BamBam drawled sweetly, motioning his head toward his hands when the other finally turned to face him.

Yugyeom flushed bright red, crawling over him to undo the restraints. “Sorry Bammie. Just… got caught up.”

“That’s all right.” BamBam assured, bringing his now-freed hands up to cup Yugyeom’s jaw, pulling him in for a searing, languid kiss that left the other a little dazed. When the alchemist pulled back, he smirked. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Mmhm.” Yugyeom nodded, earning another soft kiss.

“Good. Why don’t you put your clothes on before the others get back, hm?” BamBam asked, and Yugyeom nodded again, climbing off of him shakily to do as he’d asked.

Jinyoung looked a little lost, wanting to put his clothes back on, but also needing to clean himself first. He was looking around, for what exactly he could not say, but suddenly the alchemist was in his space, having closed the distance between them.

BamBam snatched him by the wrist, dragging him closer, until his lips touched the other’s filthy palm… and then he proceeded to lick every drop of Yugyeom’s come from his skin, watching him the entire time. He wrapped his lips around one of his fingers once he’d finished, sucking on it for good measure before pulling off with a satisfied hum.

“Gods…” Jinyoung hissed, eyes never leaving him.

“Oh, you are going to be so much fun.” BamBam smirked, leaning in to kiss him.

Jinyoung kissed him back, all but melting… and he was certain these boys would be the absolute end of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music inspirations for Yugyeom and BamBam’s tavern songs include The Butterfly Lovers, Dance of the Yi People, Jia Ren Qu and some others.
> 
> I don’t usually write smut for the secondary ship in a fic, after I ran out of steam on older fics of mine because of it. However, a friend of mine who helped me a lot with the characterization really ships JinyoungXYugyeom so I had to add some JinYugBam for her, and I actually found myself super inspired to write it. Sorry if you expected Markson smut this chapter, I promise I’ll have some for you in future chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> You're welcome to yell at me on twitter, @NecroticNymph


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